


How (Not) To Become A Bad Boy

by impulsewriter (trilogycal)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Good Lotor (Voltron), Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, LGBTQ Themes, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Season/Series 06, Sexuality Crisis, Spoilers, THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT TAG HERE BTW, Unresolved Romantic Tension, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilogycal/pseuds/impulsewriter
Summary: "All girls dig bad boys! It's a scientific fact, like water is wet or the sky is blue!"Seeing that Allura is falling for Lotor's rebellious charms, Lance tries to become a bad boy so she will fall for him instead. He tries to rope Keith into teaching him how to become one, since we all know that Keith is a walking, talking bad boy stereotype, but when Keith denies him, he tries to take matters into his own hands.Let's just say.....it doesn't go quite as planned.
Relationships: Allura & Lance (Voltron), Background Allura/Lotor (Voltron) - Relationship, Hunk & Keith (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Lotor (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Matt Holt & Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, onesided Allura/Lance (Voltron) - Relationship
Comments: 26
Kudos: 206





	1. How (not) To Become A Bad Boy

**Author's Note:**

> a few notes about this au: i'm playing VERY fast and loose here. i didn't meticulously think every detail through, since this was meant to be an exercise intended to only be 3k but got WILDLY out of control, but here's some of the most major changes i made to canon
> 
> 1) keith: his situation is a little odd here? the bom & voltron kinda. share custody of him? idk, i just really missed him interacting with the team, especially lance :( and that's not even my klance bias speaking, i just MISSED all of my KIDS being FRIENDS. SO they're actual friends here. 
> 
> 2) krolia: keith did meet up w her like they did in season 5 (except a little later in the timeline here), but she was really shocked at seeing her SON, so she kept quiet. tldr, keith doesn't know about her connection to him yet
> 
> 3) matt: same situation as keith, i suppose. in honesty, i just think he's neat, and rly underutilized in canon, so here he is bc i say so
> 
> 4) lotor: one of the biggest plot points in this, btw. like i said, i didn't think every single thing through, since this was meant to be a joke that just got out of control, but one of my biggest regrets about vld is that lotor was evil. i loved him so so much, and his whole storyline/arc in canon was handled so so poorly, so i'm making him good bc fuck canon :) my city now, fellas
> 
> that should be it but if there's any more questions, lmk in the comments!

* * *

“You’re eating yogurt, for Christ’s sake… who just _does_ that?”

Lotor paused, spoon halted halfway up to his awaiting mouth. “Look, is there something you want to talk about?” he asked in exasperation. He lowered the spoon back into the container of the Olkari version of yogurt, and regarded his company with worry written onto his features. “You’ve been following me around for several varga now, staring at me and just... just _muttering_, all angry-like.”

“I’m _observing_ you.”

“_Why_?” Lotor placed his container of flavored colloidal sustenance – key lime, because of course he would like the worst flavor – on the table and stared back, desperate and slightly fearful. “Have I done something to anger you?” A hopeful note entered his voice as a more amicable possibility crossed his mind. “Perhaps is this simply an earthling ritual in which you inflict discomfort and unease onto your allies as a demonstration of power? The Galra have something similar.”

“Sure.”

That didn’t sound convincing. Lotor tried again. “Or, maybe it’s an initiation of some sort, to test my inner strength? The Alteans of older times had something similar in concept, called a _sah-lii-fuerl_, used to examine the might of potential allies before they unified against a certain cause.”

Lance narrowed his eyes into beady little slits of suspicion. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, may I _please_ be considered initiated?” Lotor pleaded, picking up his container of flavored colloidal sustenance once again. “You’re really starting to creep me out.”

Lance merely made a noise from the back of his throat, a low almost-growl, offering no other response.

“Alright, then… I’ll simply… remove myself from your presence. If you’ll pardon me...” Lotor uneasily scooted his stool away from the countertop and backed away, only turning his back to Lance once he passed the threshold to the kitchen. When Lance also rose from his stool, determined to give pursuit, Lotor began to briskly jog, throwing frightened glances back over his shoulder.

* * *

“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway, scuffing his shoe against the smooth, clean floor, “that got me absolutely nowhere.”

A snort echoed against the eerily quiet walls. “Wow, can’t believe it,” Keith said disbelievingly. “Stalking someone will only freak them out. I never would have thought.”

“Don’t throw rocks in glass houses, Keith,” Lance snipped back. “You didn’t have _any_ ideas, so at least I did better than you.”

“Yeah, you did better at getting kicked out of Allura’s lab, maybe.” Keith leaned back against the wall, equally smooth and pristine as the floor, and folded his arms. “As long as Lotor hides out in there, you can’t chase him around without Allura getting mad at you, so your plan is busted. What now, Sherlock?”

“Good question, Watson.” Lance cupped his chin thoughtfully, face scrunching up as he wracked his brain for more brilliant ideas. “For starters, what makes Lotor more irresistible than me?”

“Well, for starters, he’s not a stalker. Seems pretty irresistible to me,” Keith remarked, letting his head fall back until it hit the wall with a gentle thud.

“Dude, for the _last_ time, I wasn’t _stalking_, I was–“ Lance cut himself off with a frustrated groan. “Oh, just forget it! If all you’re gonna do is make jokes at my expense then it’s hopeless.” He let his head fall back in genuine distress, striking the wall with a much rougher thump, and stared up. The sterile ceiling offered no answers for the silent questions he pleaded, so he closed his eyes, lips tugged into a deep frown.

Keith’s features softened as he glanced over at Lance, head rolling against the wall. “Sorry, Lance,” he said, observing the side profile of Lance’s distressed face, squinting a little in the dim lighting. The castle power reserves automatically diverted light only to occupied areas, conserving power by turning lights on only as needed, and they'd been standing still for so long that only the teal highlights illuminated them. “You just make it too easy sometimes.”

Lance huffed, nostrils flaring. He cracked his eyes open, glimpsing over at Keith from the corner of his eye. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re just mean?”

Keith cracked a smirk. “Something like that.” He turned his eyes back toward the windows they leaned across from, the endless stretch of black space greeting him. “Maybe Allura is into Lotor because he’s secretly mean, and you’re just too _nice_.”

“Like a masochist?” Lance wrinkled his nose, staring sidelong at Keith. “Never took her as the type.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Lance,” Keith said with a tut of reprimanding. “But, seriously, maybe she likes him because they share the same interests? They’re both interested in reading about Altean culture and ancient alchemy and stuff. That’s something. Or maybe she just likes a guy who she can relate to? They’re both from a different time, thousands of years ago. I’m gonna guess it’s pretty hard to find someone else who's been alive for that long. And they’re both royalty, too. Maybe he gets what kind of pressure she’s constantly under, since he was a crown prince for, like, ten-thousand years.” 

Lance’s eyes suddenly widened, pieces of the puzzle seemingly clicking together in his head.

“Or,” he cut in, eyes lit up, “maybe she just likes bad boys!”

Keith let his mouth hang open for another few seconds, still registering Lance’s ingenious suggestion. He closed it slowly once the statement processed, but his brain still continued to lag behind Lance’s leaps of logic. “Uh, what?”

“That has to be it!” Lance pushed himself off of the wall and strode forward, long legs carrying him far as he began to pace. “Of course it is! Why didn’t I see it before?! All girls dig bad boys! It’s a scientific fact, like water is wet or the sky is blue!”

“But we’re in space,” Keith remarked flatly, gesturing a hand out to the window. Distant stars winked at them. “There is no sky.”

“Keith, that’s not the point here.” Lance whirled on him, slamming his fist against his palm. “It’s that good girls like bad boys. Allura is the archetype of a good girl: she’s a princess born and bred to uphold the rules of justice and morality! To her, a self-reliant rebel like Lotor is like candy!”

He gestured to Keith’s general area of presence. “I mean, just take you for example! You’re a walking bad boy stereotype, and chicks dig you on every planet!”

Keith’s face went blank. “Lance,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

“Just look at you, Keith!” Lance gesticulated to him again, sweeping his hands from head to toe. “You’ve covered all the bases here: the casual lean-back, the broody crossed arms, the careless foot propped back against the wall… combined with the dark past, the effortless good looks, and the heroic life-saving career, you’re a drop dead knockout to every alien babe this side of the Dalterion belt!”

Keith gaped, flustered pink creeping into his cheeks. “Th-that’s…”

“Absolutely correct and scientifically proven?” Lance nodded smugly. “Thanks, I know.”

Keith closed his mouth and scowled, pushing himself off of the wall, immediately changing his posture to the opposite of what Lance had just deemed attractive to women. “Stupid,” he said. “I was gonna say stupid. Girls don’t _like_ me.”

“Wrong!” Lance held up a finger matter-of-factly. “Girls are crazy about you. You were the second most popular character in the Voltron shows, after Shiro.” He moved his finger up to tap the point of Keith’s nose, barely flinching when Keith angrily swatted his hand away. “Dude, didn’t you ever notice when girls crushed on you back at the Garrison? Or when all the alien chicks follow you around on our landing parties?”

“Does it _seem_ like I noticed?!” Keith snapped, flinging his hands up.

“No, it doesn’t, which gives you an extra edge: you’re adorably oblivious! Girls _love_ a dense idiot who doesn’t know how hot he is!” Lance turned on his heel and resumed pacing, long legs carrying him in great strides. “Now, the real question here is how do I achieve that state? I mean, I already _know_ that I’m hot.”

“Do you know you’re a dense idiot?” Keith asked.

Lance ignored him. “How can I…” 

He suddenly halted at the farthest point of his pacing circle, stiffly turning around to face Keith with an odd, creepy sort of intense look on his face. “Keith, you _have_ to teach me.”

“What?”

In the blink of an eye, Lance was right up in his space, hands gripping Keith’s shoulders, close enough for their noses to touch. “Teach me how to be a bad boy, Keith!”

Keith recoiled, cheeks flushing at the sudden breach of his personal space bubble. “I’m _not_ going to do that.” He reached up and grabbed Lance’s wrists, prying the hands off of his shoulders and taking a step back. The air between them thinned out once again, giving him a chance to breathe.

“C’mon, Keith!” Lance whined. He advanced on Keith again, hands pressed together in a pleading steeple of prayer. “Teach me!”

“I’m not gonna teach you how to act cool just so you can pick up chicks!” Keith spun on his heel and marched down the hall.

Lance dropped to his knees, his kneecaps hitting the ground with a loud thud. “Keeeeith!” he cried, hands still folded in prayer. “Come onnnn!”

Keith vanished around the corner at the end of the corridor, abandoning Lance in the hallway with sore knees and the dust bunnies they’d created by tracking in space dirt. Lance dropped his hands back down to his sides and hung his head. “Meanie….”

He clenched his fist and looked up, eyes blazing with determination as he stared at the corner Keith disappeared around. “Truly, an expert at his craft. I’ll have to observe closely.” He scrambled to his feet and pivoted in place, jogging down the hall in the opposite direction that Keith fled in. 

* * *

“So, he’s doing it to you now, too, huh?” Lotor asked.

Keith growled in the back of his throat, sliding down further in his seat, shoulders hunched up with displeasure. “Lance,” he said, referring to the pair of eyes boring into him from across the table. He narrowed his eyes in warning. “If you don’t quit staring at me, I’ll do something you’ll regret.”

“Shouldn’t it be something _you’ll_ regret..?” 

Keith simply uncrossed his arms and reached for his lower back, sliding his Luxite blade out of its sheath and placing it on the table with utmost care. “No.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at the obvious threat. “Okay. Fine,” he said, finally taking his eyes off of Keith for the first time in the past several dobashes. “Whatever, I don’t care. I don’t care about _anything_, really.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair with theatrical poise, features pulled into an impassive scowl that looked out of place on his normally smiling face. 

Keith slumped all the way down in his chair, closing his eyes and repeating Shiro’s mantra in his head. _Patience yields focus, patience yields focus_….

A rasp next to his ear startled him slightly. “Are all you earthlings this… intense?” Lotor whispered to him, nervously eyeing Lance.

Keith leaned away from Lotor. “Not really,” he muttered back, rolling his eyes. “Lance is just... like that.”

“Yep, that’s me,” Lance piped up from across the conference table. Long ago, Shiro had moved their spots, swapping the arms of Voltron and placing Pidge beside Lance. It did little to truly stop their spats, but it _did_ put a stop to the covert tic-tac-toe games they'd played out of sheer boredom. “Lance: Red Paladin: intense… aloof… _rebellious_.” He narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the imaginary distance. “The baddest there ever was.”

“If crying during _The Lion King_ at 17 years old makes you ‘bad’, then I guess Hunk’s even badder than you are,” Pidge posited. “Because you both cried like babies, and babies are not any of the things you just listed.”

“_Hey_! The death of Mufasa was emotionally _traumatizing_,” Lance hissed, jabbing a finger down on the table to emphasize the point. “The way Simba begged for him to get up while nudging his body like he did earlier in the film when they were playing was _poignant_ and _devastating_, and if you didn’t cry at least once when you saw it then you’re a heartless little gremlin!”

Hunk nodded. He looked close to tears just thinking about it. “That _was_ really sad, Pidge.”

“See?” Lance said, smirking boastfully.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

“What are they talking about?” Lotor whispered. 

Keith shook his head. “No idea,” he lied. 

The doors to the conference room slid open with a swish, to show their valiant leaders in arms Shiro and Allura, closely followed by Coran. “Good evening, Paladins,” Allura greeted, as diplomatic as always. She looked around the table with a smile at her teammates, waiting as Coran and Shiro took their seats on either side of her spot at the head of the table. Keith couldn’t help but notice her gaze lingered noticeably longer on Lotor as she met his eyes. “And others.”

“Happy to be here.” Lotor smiled sweetly back at her. He practically had hearts in his eyes. 

Keith glanced at Lance to gauge his reaction to Allura glossing over his presence to single out Lotor and _smile_ at him like that.

Lance’s face was wearing a pouty scowl, but it looked extremely rehearsed instead of natural, almost exaggerated. What really undersold the whole act was how Lance glanced over at him, Keith, every few seconds, not even paying attention to Allura; he shifted in his seat, making a point to fold his arms and sink down in his chair. Trying to copy him, Keith belatedly realized. 

He scowled and lashed out with his foot. Success – his knees hit something that decidedly wasn’t a table leg, and Lance’s eye twitched, breaking his poor attempt at a ‘bad boy face’, or whatever he was trying to do. Keith could see the thought of retaliation cross his face, but before he could say or do anything, Shiro cleared his throat and launched into their latest mission report.

The tactical meeting lasted for about a varga and a half, and by the end of it, Keith was ready to take a quiznaking nap. He turned his head and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coran approach Pidge, putting a hand on her shoulder as they walked out together. Hunk asked Matt what he should make for dinner later as they both got up and headed for the door; Matt jokingly suggested he try and tweak the food goo dispenser to recreate the taste of fudge brownies. Hunk brightened and offered him one better, and decided to make actual brownies with the stuff they got from their last trip to Olkarion, which honestly sounded awesome.

Across the table, Lance stood up, pausing to arch his back, likely cramped from sitting hunched down in his chair the whole time. He pushed his chair back in and glanced over at Allura, currently talking to Lotor about something, and his impassive frown twitched.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keith watching him, and he narrowed his eyes. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he asked, loudly fronting.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Nothing.”

Lance nodded. “’S what I thought.” He reached up and tugged the collar of his jacket up, then turned to swagger out of the room, hands in his pockets. 

Keith rolled his eyes again, and stood up from the table.

“Hey, Keith, wait up for a sec.” There went his nap – Shiro’s voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

Keith turned and waited, watching him approach. “What’s up, Shiro?”

“Are you doing anything in the next couple of hours?”

“Uh, not that I know of, no.” Keith folded his arms and looked up as Shiro stopped before him. “Why?” 

“Do you think you could help Pidge and Coran recalibrate the parameters on the gladiator bots’ failsafe protocols?” Shiro asked. “Apparently, the sensors were scrambled when we lost power in the Patrulian Zone and didn’t realign correctly when we regained systems back, so it doesn’t immediately recognize a defeated opponent and keeps on fighting, which you can probably guess is extremely dangerous. You and I are the ones who can fight it the best at that level, besides the princess of course, and normally, I’d do it no problem, but I didn’t want to bother Allura since she’s already got a lot on her plate, and I’ve just…” He reached up for his head and rubbed at his temples, grimacing tightly. “I’ve had this _killer_ migraine ever since I woke up this morning. At this point, it hurts just have my eyes open, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much of a match for it.”

“Sure, I can do that.” 

“Thanks. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Keith tilted his head, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay? You’re starting to have those migraines almost every day now. I don’t think they’re supposed to get worse over the course of the day like you’re saying they are.” He bit his lip in thought. “Maybe you should go see Coran about it. Maybe he could, I dunno, run a scan or something, see if he can find out what’s causing them and find a treatment to help.”

“Nah, I’m fine. I probably just need to sleep it off.” Shiro waved his metal hand at Keith’s skeptical look. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I promise, if I still have it when I wake up, I’ll go straight to Coran. Scout’s honor.”

“Scout’s honor doesn’t mean much when you were never a scout in the first place, but okay.” Keith offered a reassuring smile. “Feel better, okay? Don’t strain yourself.”

They both turned to leave, Shiro leading the way. He turned right at the door, shooting Keith one last wave as he walked away, heading to the residency wing. Keith waved back, and when Shiro’s back turned, he let his hand fall back to his side. He watched Shiro retreat, jaw clenched with worry.

“Psst,” somebody hissed from behind him. “Keith! Over here!”

Keith turned at the sound of his name. He deadpanned at what he saw. “Lance,” he said exasperatedly, “what are you _doing_...?”

Lance jerked his head, gesturing for him to come over to where he leaned against the wall, hands in his jacket pockets, the sole of one shoe pressed up against the wall. “C’mere!” he whispered when Keith didn’t immediately obey.

With a roll of his eyes – what was it about Lance that just warranted eye rolling? – Keith reluctantly went over and stood in front of him. “What?” he asked flatly. “I don’t have time to mess around with you right now. I’ve got a gladiator bot to help recalibrate, and I want to get it over with as soon as possible.”

“You _need_ to mess around more, you’re so uptight all the time,” Lance remarked, gesturing to him with an elbow. “You’re gonna go gray early if you keep on like that. ’All work and no play’, you know.”

“Is there an actual _reason_ why you called me over here?” Keith questioned.

“Yeah, there is, actually.” Lance glanced over to the side. When he didn’t elaborate, Keith rolled his eyes and turned to head toward the training deck. A hand caught his arm and pulled him back. “There she is right now!” Lance spun him back around and settled back up against the wall, folding his arms. “Act natural!”

Keith looked over and caught a glimpse of dark brown skin and silver hair and a white flight suit, but a light kick to his ankle made him look right back at Lance. “Did you just _kick_ me?” he demanded, glancing down to return the favor, kicking Lance’s foot back. 

“Act natural, Keith,” Lance urged from the side of his mouth, his face already pulled into the same impassive mask he’d put on when Allura entered the room earlier. It looked even more fake up close, a rehearsed pout that looked aloof and cool and just everything Lance _wasn’t_. For a split-second, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thought in the back of his mind, Keith found himself wishing for Lance’s playful smile and quips to match instead. Allura’s footsteps approached, and Lance silently urged him to say something, raising his eyebrows pleadingly.

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Keith said lamely, going with the first thing off the top of his head.

“Uh-huh,” Lance replied, lowering the register of his voice into something husky, probably intending to sound ‘cool’ and ‘attractive’.

The things he did for this guy. “When I was seven, I saw the Mogollon Monster on a camping trip with my dad. It didn’t notice me at first, but when it did, it threw a rock at me and ran away.”

“Yeah.”

“Water is wet and the sky is blue. There is no sky in space.” 

As he spoke, Lance’s eyes flickered over to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a sly smirk. He nodded, inclining his chin at Allura as she passed by. His eyes followed her, head turning with it, as she continued past them.

As he watched Lance’s face, turned to the side in profile as he stared after Allura, a pang of something struck Keith’s chest hard, spreading through him and settling to simmer in the pit of his stomach. Lance bit his lip, and it rose to a boil. “You’re an idiot,” he snapped.

Lance’s eyes finally darted back to him. “Rude!” 

“Sorry, I was just stating facts.” Keith crossed his arms. “Can I go now?”

Lance rolled his eyes and straightened up off the wall, planting his foot back on the ground. “Yeah, you can go, I guess.” He turned and looked in the direction Allura had gone. A triumphant smirk crept onto his face, and he slid his hands into his jacket pockets. “I think that went well! Thanks!”

“Whatever.” Without another word, he turned and stomp, stomp, stomped down the hall toward the training deck. Suddenly, fighting the broken gladiator sounded great.

* * *

“Keith, I’ve gotta hand it to you, playing hard to get is a brilliant strategy. Don’t be mad if I steal it from you, man.”

“I’m not _playing_ anything,” Keith grumbled, lowering his head to put more effort into walking faster. His legs weren’t short or anything, but Lance’s were simply freakishly long; they went on for _days_, and it was kind of maddening. “It’s just called ‘not being desperate’. You should try it sometime.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Lance continued to babble, walking at his usual pace despite Keith’s efforts to get ahead and leave him behind. “I mean, it’s a masterful display of the control you have. Projecting an air of desirability while simultaneously prioritizing other matters creates a mystique that’s simply begging to be explored! Without even trying, you’ve created a game in which you hold all the cards! It’s totally genius! Who knew you could be tactical?”

Keith groaned, slowing to a stop and letting his head hang. “Lance,” he said as he turned to face the other boy, reaching up to grasp Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you this one more time: I’m _not_ playing hard to get, especially not with _you_.”

Lance’s mouth curled up into a grin. “Oh, really?” he asked cockily, leaning in until the tips of their noses were only a few inches apart. “Then how come you’re running away? It’s almost like you _want_ me to catch you. That’s the whole game, isn’t it?”

“Ugh.” Keith jerked back like Lance had burned him, holding up his hands in surrender. He hoped his burning cheeks weren’t too obvious. “It’s almost like you want me to _punch_ you.”

Keith stomped off, and Lance was left to wade in a pool of triumph. “Who’s holding the cards now, Keith?” he called down the hall, cupping a hand around his mouth to amplify his voice.

His own words echoed back to him in the empty corridor, Keith’s name reverberating back to his ears: _Keith, Keith..._

Lance scowled and crossed his arms. “OK, don’t rub it in…” 

* * *

“Maybe I need to grow my hair out more.”

“I don’t think it’d suit you.”

“Aw, come on. No mullet or anything, but long, flowing locks of coolness cascading around my shoulders? It’d look cool.”

“Seems like it’d take too long.”

“…maybe you make a good point. If anyone can make short hair look good, it’s me, right?”

“Yeah. Sure, Lance.”

* * *

“Can you teach me how to drive a motorcycle?”

“Why would I do that when you can barely fly a Lion?”

“Hey!”

* * *

“What do you think about leather jackets?”

“They look cool, I guess.”

“Yeah, same. So, unrelated question, what do you think _Allura_ thinks about leather jackets? …Keith? Hey, come on, man, don’t just walk away from me!”

* * *

“You know, I think I might have cracked another part of the code.”

“Pray tell,” Keith said, fully exasperated after an entire day of this, “what on Earth could it be?”

Lance snapped his fingers. “I need to scowl more. Don’t you think so?”

“Hey Lance?” Keith waited until Lance gave him his full attention. “I _don’t_ think so.”

Lance pouted as Keith stormed off down the corridor. “Jeez. Somebody’s moody.” He shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to do this bad boy thing on my own, then!” 

* * *

“Hey, Keith?”

Hunk twiddled his thumbs together and didn’t meet Keith’s eye, looking all the part of an apprehensive child. His eyes flickered away from his hands, nervously landing on the Luxite dagger that Keith held and had been cleaning.

With a labored, unimpressed sigh, Keith wrapped the blade in the cloth, reached over and placed it in its usual spot under his pillow, just for the sake of Hunk’s comfort, then crossed his arms. Hunk visibly relaxed. “What’s up, Hunk?”

“OK, first, you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“…say it.”

“I won’t get mad.”

“Say you promise.”

“I promise I won’t get mad! Now spit it out already!”

“Okay, okay! Don’t yell at me!” Hunk stared down at his hands for a moment, clearly trying to summon the courage, then sucked in a breath and quickly asked in one big rush, “What’supwithyouandLance?”

Keith froze. “…huh?”

“What’s up with you and Lance?” Hunk repeated, slower this time.

“What do you mean?”

Hunk bit his lip. “You’ve been acting kind of weird around him lately, you know, running away from him, ignoring him, et cetera… Are you two fighting?”

“Oh.” Keith let out a sound that resembled a growl and a sigh, and slapped his forehead, letting his hand drag down his face. “No, we’re not fighting. He’s just being an idiot. Not like that’s new,” he added, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. 

Hunk blinked. “Then, why are you…?” He made an ‘and so on’ motion with his hand. 

“He asked me to teach him how to be a ‘bad boy’ so he could make Allura fall in love with him,” Keith reluctantly explained.

Hunk raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Huh?”

“Yeah, I know,” Keith said. “I told him no, I’m not gonna do that because of how _stupid_ it is, and now he’s following me around, trying to convince me to teach him my _ways_ or whatever.”

“Your… _ways_?”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.” Keith crossed his arms, defending himself against Hunk’s inquisitive, probing gaze. “Through some weird, twisted logic, he thinks that, since I said no to that incredibly dumb request, I must be showing him how to play hard to get, just to be spiteful or petty toward him, even though that’s not it at all.”

Hunk’s brows furrowed. “Why does he think _you’re_ playing hard to get with him?” he asked, utterly baffled. 

“’Cause he’s a moron, I figure.”

“But isn’t he supposed to be going after Allura?” Hunk continued. “I mean… why is he getting so hung up on _you_ when his end goal is her?" 

Keith opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “I… I dunno,” he mumbled, after a moment of thought.

“Yeah, me neither. That’s really weird.” Hunk tilted his head. “Anyway! Soooo, just out of curiosity… why _did_ you say no? And why are you still saying no? Giving him what he wants might get him to leave you alone. It’s simple enough to just tell him something you made up on the fly, right?”

The question was innocuous enough, and definitely meant to be helpful, but for some reason, it caused a familiar pang of _something_ to strike him in the chest, making him feel rather hollow and uneasy in its wake as it spread through him like ripples in a pond, settling in the bottom of his stomach like tepid, stagnant water, and just as appealing. 

Keith went completely still as his brain finally, finally, placed the feeling, bringing his world to a grinding halt as realization slammed into him with the subtlety of a high-speed freight train: envy. 

“I-I just don’t want to,” he stammered once he realized that he’d gone suspiciously quiet for too long of a pause to be normal, wincing at the tremor in his voice. He crossed his arms and looked away, unable to watch Hunk’s face as it changed right before his eyes. “Simple as that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hunk’s eyes widened. Then, he smiled slowly, realization dawning on his face like a sunrise. “Simple as that, huh?” he murmured.

Keith closed his eyes, unable – unwilling – to look him in the eye. “Yeah. Simple as that.”

* * *

“Wrench.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Screwdriver.”

“Here you go.”

“Demagnetizing plutonium uncoupling device.” 

“…uh…?”

Pidge shot an irritated glance down at him. “The zappy pliers, Lance,” she amended, making her sarcasm abundantly clear. 

Lance instantly spotted them. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” he whined as he handed them up to her, placing them in her hand and watching them disappear into the ceiling tiles, along with her upper half. “I’m not a genius like you or Hunk, you know! I’m just a simple pilot.” 

“Emphasis on _simple_…” she couldn’t help muttering.

Lance pouted. “Well, if you wanted to get your _own_ tools, you could have just asked nicely.”

With a sigh, Pidge carefully bent down on top of the ladder, reappearing from the ceiling. “Sorry, Lance. You just make it too easy sometimes,” she teased, wiping her hands free of advanced technological spaceship part lubrication with a rag hanging from her pocket.

Lance crossed his arms. “Why does everybody _say_ that? I don’t get how it’s _easy_ to make fun of me!”

With no warning, Pidge flung the rag down at him. He jumped away from it with a girlish shriek. “That’s how,” she snickered, climbing down and dismounting the ladder.

Now on the other side of the room, Lance folded his arms crossly and glared. “Do you treat Hunk this way whenever he gives up his very precious and valuable free time to help you out?” he demanded, voice high-pitched and offended. “I could have been doing important research!”

“Hunk would re-invert the dorsal automatic resistance filaments in the nitrogen manipulator pistons in his free time _anyway_, so, that’s irrelevant.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “And I didn’t know glaring at Lotor and stalking Keith around classified as ‘important research’.” She picked her rag up off the ground and placed it on the table, then turned to depart from the engine room.

Lance sputtered defensively, and jogged to catch up with her quick, purposeful strides. He caught up with her easily, and at her side, he scowled. “Lotor _deserves_ to be glared at. His vibes are _weird_ and I don’t like him.”

“But Keith deserves to be stalked?” Pidge countered as they turned a corner.

“I don’t _stalk_ Keith,” Lance protested, lifting a matter-of-fact finger for emphasis, “I _observe_.”

"Sure." She rolled her eyes again – people did that a lot around him, it seemed – so Lance rolled his back. Ha, take that.

“Look, just think of it like this,” he said, slowly and patiently as if he was speaking to a child. "When we first met the Olkari, the most incredible technological geniuses the universe has to offer, didn’t you want to ask them just how they made plants shoot stuff and whatnot?”

Pidge pursed her lips in thought. “I guess,” she said, side-eyeing him warily. 

“Well, that’s all I’m doing with Keith,” Lance said, trying to sound casual and _totally_ nailing it. “He’s bad boy incarnate – handsome with a dash of cute, rebellious with a heart of gold, mysterious and enticing but elusive and hard to get, plus he knows how to ride a motorcycle! That’s just sexy, no matter who you are! A solid magnet for all kinds of chicks across the universe! The perfect specimen to take notes from!”

Lance punched his palm, eyes practically twinkling. “If I can learn from him, then I can outperform Lotor and get Allura back on my side! ...hey, what are you laughing at? I know I’m hilarious, but I didn’t even say anything funny!” 

Pidge gasped for breath between sudden snorts of laughter. “Sorry. I’ve got, uh… A-Altean giggle syndrome.”

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Sounds serious.”

“It’s not, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Pidge cleared her throat and pushed herself up off the wall she sagged against, wiping at her tears of mirth. “Lance, it sounds like you’ve done an extensive amount of research on Keith’s, uh…” She coughed. “…bad boy charm.”

“Thanks, I have,” Lance said, chest puffing out.

Rolling his eyes at his easily-stroked ego, Pidge continued down the hallway. “In my professional opinion, I think it’s time for you to do the next step in the scientific method.”

“You think so…?”

“Yeah! Form your hypothesis. How do you think your subject will respond to your accordingly adjusted behavior?”

Lance cupped his chin, furrowing his perfectly maintained eyebrows in thought. “Form my hypothesis..” he murmured. “But, I already _know_ that she’s gonna be totally captivated by my new devil-may-care attitude.”

“Then perform your experiment and record the results. Prove your hypothesis correct.”

Nodding, Lance grinned, the gears in his brain already turning. “I’ve got just the thing.” He reached up and ruffled Pidge’s hair, dancing away as she squawked and indignantly swung at him. “Thanks for your help, Pidge! I’ve got an experiment to perform!”

Pidge rolled her eyes, as she did quite frequently in Lance’s presence for some reason, and waved after him. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

* * *

“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway outside of Allura’s laboratory, “that got me absolutely nowhere.” He looked down at the floor, and kicked at the ground, the toe of his shoe squeaking against the light scuff mark left by him the last time.

The empty hall offered no reply. No unimpressed snort; no sarcastic, disbelieving quip of ‘wow, can’t believe it.’ The cosmos outside twinkled as they passed, the stars winking in and out at him, and for some reason, it felt like an empty gesture.

Lance scowled. “Shut up, Keith,” he snapped anyway, just for the spirit of it, and stomped all the way to his quarters.

* * *

Let’s rewind a bit:

“Hello, Lance. What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t simply swing by and visit my favorite hard-working princess in her lab?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh.” Lance glanced off to the side, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “Well,” he said, pulling a chair out from across her, “that’s fair.”

Allura squinted at him as he turned the chair around and sat in it backwards, straddling it from behind like a true rebel against society’s conventions. “Might I ask what you’re doing here, then?” she politely asked, electing to delay mentioning the fact that she’d banished him from here for being creepy to Lotor for no reason. And Coran dared say that she had a short patience…

Lance shrugged. “Dunno.” He raised his chin and squinted off in the distance, willing his eyes to smolder like glowing embers. “I just go wherever the wind takes me. Like a leaf in the wind. No roots to hold me down. You know how it is.” He glanced back at her to gauge her reaction to his brand new devil-may-care attitude.

“I’m quite sure that I don’t.” Allura was already looking back down at her book, finger trailing down the yellowed page. “I’m rather root-bound, myself.” 

At once, Lance’s mind flashed half a universe away, going back to that blue marble 93-million miles away from the sun he missed so much. His throat tightened, and the corners of his eyes tingled slightly. “Yeah,” he said regretfully, looking down at his arms folded on the top of the chair’s back and rapidly blinking. So, maybe the devil did care just a _little_ bit...

Clearing his throat, he quickly changed topics. “So, uh. Princess.”

Allura didn’t spare him another glimpse, keeping her eyes down as she reached across the desk for something. “Yes, Lance.” It wasn’t a question.

“So, about Lotor being Emperor.”

“Mm-hm?”

“Do you really think that he’ll really be able to…” Lance trailed off as Allura tore the foil lid off a familiar container and dipped her spoon in. “You, uh, like yogurt…?”

Allura paused, spoon raised halfway up to her awaiting mouth. She offered him a lovely smile and dipped her spoon back in, lifting the container up and turning it for him to see the label. “Yes, quite! In my youth on Altea, we had a juniberry variety of something very similar, and it was extremely delicious. And while it certainly cannot compare, this ‘key lime’ flavor is not half bad.”

Lance watched her take an enthusiastic bite. His eye twitched. “Riiight,” he said. He carefully stood up and un-straddled the chair, neatly spinning it back around and pushing it back under the table. “Well, uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve gotta head out. I’ve gotta help Hunk with… uh… baking.”

“Alright then. Please give my greetings to Hunk.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Lance walked stiff-leggedly over to the door, and just as it swished open to allow him out, Allura’s call made him pause. “Oh, and Lance?”

He poked his head back in. “Yeah?”

She smiled prettily at him. “If you happen to see Lotor, would you mind sending him my way? I’ve got a tome on what I believe is about the White Lion, but it needs to be deciphered and his expertise might be able to crack it.”

Lance reflexively winced, awaiting that heart-sinking feeling whenever the princess said Lotor’s name like that, all sweet and kind and affectionate. The feeling did not come, much to his confusion, and for a few beats, he lingered, wondering if it would hit him at all.

“Lance...?”

“Oh. Yeah, right. You got it.” Lance ducked out of her lab, the doors closing behind him and leaving him in an empty vacuum, alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Back in the present, Lance strode through the halls of the castle, hands in his jacket pockets as he mused over the strange absence of his usual heart-sinking, stomach-clenching jealousy whenever Allura mentioned Lotor. Was it just delayed or something? Could that even happen with something like jealous? And, not to mention, the way he’d suddenly had to run, when he’d finally had the chance to talk to her in private with no attractive, silver-tongued Emperors around to distract her – what was up with that? Maybe he ought to see Coran about it, ask about some kind of diagnostic scan to make sure he wasn’t suffering any side effects from that nasty almost-deadly shock he’d gotten at the Omega Shield…

Deep in thought, he turned the corner, and at once, he looked up and stopped on a dime, his soles making a loud squeaking sound at the abrupt stop.

Because there, outside the entrance to the training deck, stood Keith.

Well, no. There _leaned_ Keith, demonstrating his mastery of the bad boy pose like a true expert. He had it all: the casual lean-back, the broody crossed arms, the careless foot propped back against the wall, every single base was covered. Like a cast shadow, he leaned against the lighter wall, dressed in the dark tones of his casual clothes; the pale pallor of his crossed arms looked white and stark against the black of his pants and t-shirt. There was one shockingly naked hand curled over his bare bicep, finger tapping to some unknown rhythm, and his hair was pulled back into a stubby ponytail, showing off the curve of a neck that was typically hidden behind the collar of that horrendous cropped jacket or one of his armor suits, revealing Adam’s apple and collarbones and–

Lance’s eyes moved up, and he suddenly found himself staring at Keith’s face, being stared at back.

Keith pushed himself off the wall, arms falling and foot planting back on the ground, and turned in his direction. Lance’s breath caught. Then–

Keith tore his eyes away and all but ran into the training deck, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him with a hiss that sounded loud in the silent hallway. He’d been doing an awful lot of tearing his eyes away and running, here lately. It seemed to be chronic, like Pidge and her eye rolling, Matt and his bad worldplay, or Shiro’s migraines.

Or, like Lance’s heart-sinking feelings, which – oh would you look at that, were hitting him now.

Better late than never, right?

Balling his fists up in his jacket pockets, Lance kept his head down and shoulders hunched up as he stomp, stomp, stomped past the training deck and down the hall, privately, bitterly, pettily hoping Keith got his butt whooped by those robots he liked the company of so much.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight.” A beat. “Or, rather, let me get this gay.”

“Pidge,” Keith growled.

“Right, not the time. Just couldn’t resist.” Pidge cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. She then removed them, so she could clean them off with the hem of her shirt. “So, let’s review. Our wannabe casanova has somehow managed to convince himself that you’re some kind of bad boy god incarnate, and wants to learn your… _ways_… so he can pick up the princess, who likes tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with authority issues, a penchant for rebellion, and daddy issues, and other assorted baggage.” She turned toward him, peering at him through her specs. Her face looked comically tiny and distorted through the lenses, pinched in like the head of a bowling pin. “Right?”

“That’s the story so far, yes,” Keith sighed, crossing his ankles where he had his feet kicked up on her workbench. “Well?”

Pidge slid her lenses on and looked over at Matt, who was seated on her bed. “What do you think?”

Matt scrunched up his nose in thought. “Sounds a little… confused, to me.”

Pidge nodded. “To put it simply,” she said. “I was just thinking ‘totally delusional and completely idiotic’ myself.”

“Idiotic, sure,” Matt agreed. “But ‘delusional’? Little harsh there, Katie.”

“He deserves harshness, for being a quiznaking fool when the obvious is right under his nose.”

“He’s just got that sniper’s focus, is all – he’s used to thinking about stuff in the distance, not stuff right under his nose, no matter how obvious we think it might be.”

“First of all, focus? Lance? Have you _met_ the guy?” 

“Okay,” Keith cut in, unable to hide his aggravation. “Maybe lighten up a little, Pidge. He’s not _that_ bad.”

Pidge turned to look at him curiously. “You... _don’t_ want me to roast Lance?” she asked incredulously. She grabbed his face with both hands and started turning his head this way and that, examining him in a sort of panic. “Are you dying or something? Did something happen to you on your last Blade mission? Keith, if you’re dying, let me help so I don’t have to be stuck with Lance all on my own!”

“Pidge, quit it!” he snapped, trying to swat her hands away but to no avail. “I’m not dying!”

“Okay, calm down, Katie. Nothing’s wrong with Keith.” Matt piped up, getting both of their attention. Pidge reluctantly released his face, and Keith rubbed his cheeks, shooting Matt a grateful nod.

Keith’s gratitude quickly turned sour as he smirked back. “If you ask me, it’s really sweet for Keith to want to stand up for his _boyfriend_.” 

“Lance? My _boyfriend_?” Keith spat, “Yeah right! As if.” Yet, despite his abrasive tone, his traitorous cheeks grew warm at the mere suggestion.

Pidge suddenly squinted at him.

“_What_?” he snapped, cheeks burning hotter under her scrutiny.

Pidge squinted her eyes up tighter, her entire face scrunched up in suspicion. Keith could almost see the gears in her brain turning in thought. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to meet her eye, even though she probably couldn’t even see his face that well from the side.

When her eyes snapped open and a slow grin crept onto her face, he knew he was in trouble.

“Oh my _god_,” Pidge said. “Actually? Like, for real? _Keith_!" 

Keith scowled. “Shut up!” he yelled as Matt started laughing.

“I mean, I had my suspicions, but I didn't seriously think you _actually_..." She slapped a hand to her forehead and started laughing. 

“What do you mean, you had 'suspicions'?!” Keith shouted. "About what?" 

“About you and Lance, stupid! The way you act around him, the way you always want to hang out with him, the way you lowkey flirt with him by teasing him all the time, and… just… God! Just the way you _look_ at him makes my brain hurt!” Pidge shouted back at him. 

Keith turned red from the roots of his hair to his collarbones. "I do not!" 

"When did you figure it out?" Pidge questioned, like he hadn't even spoken at all. "And why didn't you tell me sooner? Man, some friend you are, leaving me in the dark like this!"

Keith opened his mouth to yell or something, but nothing came out; an echo of his revolutionary conversation with Hunk the other day. 

Pidge stared at him, watching his face carefully. "Oh, Keith," she slowly said. "_No_... really? You didn't figure it out until _just now_?"

Matt exploded. “_Just now_?!" Keith shrunk in on himself, face scorching with humiliation. "How did you not figure it out until _just now_?!?" Matt barreled on.

“’Cause he’s Keith? You know, _Keith_? Socially-challenged lone wolf? Red Paladin, known for volatile emotions? Keep up here, Matt, you're embarrassing yourself,” Pidge dryly replied, now sobered from her laughter. She folded her arms and turned back to Keith, ignoring the way Matt threw his hands up in defeat. “So, here’s the real question: does _he_ know?”

“God, I hope not,” Keith said instantly.

Pidge paused. “…well, why not?”

“Have you been paying _any_ attention to what I’ve been saying? He’s trying to woo Princess Allura.”

“How does he _not_ know? Out of all of us, he’s supposed to be the people-person, right? The guy who knows how to read people??" 

“Sniper’s focus, I guess. I dunno.” Knowing it was useless to argue with Pidge, Keith sighed. “_Apparently_ I’m not exactly _hiding_ it, Pidge, so don’t blame _me_ for him somehow not noticing,” he grumbled, sinking down in his seat and crossing his arms. Why did he even bother coming here?

“You kinda are,” Pidge said.

“Well, I can’t exactly be open about it, now can I?” Keith asked dryly.

“Well, you technically _could_…” Matt said.

Keith looked at him like he was stupid. “I’d rather not.” He sighed and wiggled his way back up in the chair so he could hang his head over the back of it so he could miserably count the lines on Pidge’s ceiling. “Not while he’s got his sights on Allura, at least.”

While he wasn’t looking, Pidge and Matt shared a glance. “Wellll,” Pidge began after a moment, “if it makes you feel any better, Keith, I don’t think that’ll be a problem for too much longer.”

Keith picked his head up. “What, pray tell, does _that_ mean, and should I be worried?”

Pidge brought her wrist up and checked her watch. “Because I told Lance to try his whole ‘bad boy’ thing and talk to Allura, and I don’t think it went well, because he came by the lab earlier and asked Hunk all sweet-like if they could have a ‘bro talk’ in his room. He looked fine on the outside, but I could tell, he was having some kind of internal crisis that was about to go haywire, so he must have _finally_ made some connections.” 

“Wait, what?” Matt whined. “You mean you only asked me to hang out just because Hunk wasn’t available?”

“Of course,” Pidge said. “I’m not part of the circus. I don’t hang out with clowns during my free time.”

“What do you mean, he made connections?” Keith interrupted their sibling banter before it got too far. Both Holts turned to look at him in creepy synchronicity. “What connections?”

Matt grimaced sympathetically. "This is gonna go on like this for the rest of eternity, isn't it?" 

“Oh, you poor, stupid boy,” Pidge tutted. "It's Keith and Lance. Of course it is."

* * *

“…and you just walked out?”

“And I just walked out! Like, why did I _do_ that? I had her all alone, without anyone around to interrupt, but instead I _ran_ without even shooting my shot! Now I’ll never get another chance! Why did I do that, Hunk? Ugh!”

Hunk patted his distressed friend on the back as Lance flopped back down onto the bed, groaning his frustration into the pillows. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You panicked,” he soothed. 

Lance picked his face up from where it was buried in his pillows. “I bet it was when she started talking about yogurt,” he suddenly growled. Vitriol dripped off of his voice as he continued, “_Key lime_. _Lotor’s_ favorite. Ugh. That must be it. That must be what threw me off my game.”

“Maybe because she’s clearly got a thing for somebody else, and you know it?” Hunk hated saying it so blatantly, but Lance needed to see reason.

Lance rolled off of the bed and stood. “I disagree.”

Hunk groaned, head lolling back on his shoulders. “_Lance_…”

“Allura’s obviously got a type,” Lance began in the analytical tone of a scholar, as he folded his hands into the small of his back and started to circle the room. “I think we can both agree on that. She likes tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with authority issues, a penchant for rebellion, and parent problems, and other assorted baggage.” He stopped and turned, and stuck a matter-of-fact finger up into the air to emphasize the point. “I propose that she’s only into Lotor because he’s the only one who suits her type in the proximity.”

“What about Keith?” Hunk joked. “He’s all of those things, too, right?” 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, _please_, Hunk,” he said derisively, “Keith isn’t _tall_!”

Hunk’s face fell flat. “Right,” he deadpanned. “My mistake. Well, what about Shiro, if Keith is out of the equation? He’s all that _and_ a bag of chips, if you ask me.”

“I figure that if she would’ve fallen for Shiro, she would’ve done so already,” Lance replied. “She’s had plenty of time.” He stopped to look around in that theatrical, marvelously _not_-subtle way of someone about to tell a secret in a public setting, then dramatically leaned in, flattening a hand on the side of his mouth. “Plus, even if she had, I think Shiro might play for the other team, if you know what I mean,” he stage-whispered. “There’s no point if the person you like catches instead of pitches, you know?”

“Shouldn’t that same logic apply to _you_?” Hunk asked.

“What do you mean?” Lance spun around, nothing but confusion written on his face.

Take your pick, Hunk wanted to say. However, he decided to have mercy on his best friend and move on. “Never mind. What about you, then? You were the first person she met after being in cryosleep for 10,000 years,” he clarified. “She literally fell into your arms like some kind of fairy tale! She had plenty of time to fall for you, too, before we even knew Lotor existed, but she didn’t.”

“That’s because she didn’t take me seriously,” Lance said with the brutal honesty and lack of hesitation of someone who’d already reached acceptance long ago. “Not until Shiro disappeared.”

Hunk wasn’t ready for that, and couldn’t help but wince. 

Lance noticed his dismay and nodded. “I know. But when Shiro vanished, Keith had to move up in his place, and I had to move up in his. I was finally high enough for her to finally _see_ me, Hunk.”

“Lance, this is…”

“I know,” Lance said understandingly. “Sad but true.” To put it lightly, sure… “But then, once I got high enough for her to see me, I had to put her on the back burner for a while so I could keep Keith from losing his quiznaking mind. I think she noticed that I kinda snubbed her a little, in favor of keeping Keith sane, so when he left she subtly inserted herself into the hole he left behind when he left to be with the Blades.”

Now_ that _was interesting. “Keith left a hole behind?” Hunk asked. 

Lance bit his lip and pointedly didn’t answer. 

‘Interesting’ was rapidly becoming ‘saddening and kinda nauseating.’ “In… in the team? In… _you_?”

“Er… yeah? No. I dunno.” Lance turned away, waving an arm dismissively. “That was mostly an exaggeration, Hunk.” 

Mostly, he says. “Y-yeah, sure. Anyways…?”

Lance coughed delicately, then continued pacing, his profile coming back into view. He was right back to looking unfazed, calculated and thoughtful. “Right. As I was saying, Allura is only into Lotor because I don’t currently fit the archetype she’s after, so that means that I need to become what she’s looking for – which is precisely why I’ve come up with this brilliant plan!”

“Right. The plan,” Hunk said flatly. He didn’t bother hiding his disdain. “Lance, I really don’t think that it’s a good plan. You’ve had lots of good plans before, and this isn’t one of them.”

“And why not?” Lance challenged. “_All_ of my plans are good!” 

“You shouldn’t have to change who you are in order for someone to like you back,” Hunk said, gently but firmly. “You _know_ that.”

Lance’s step faltered, and he slowed down to a stop, facing the doors to his quarters. “I…”

Now they were cooking. “Trying to turn yourself into some bad boy rebel isn’t good for you,” Hunk continued. “You _like_ your dad. You _like_ following most of the rules. You _like_ fitting in. It’s not bad to like those things - it makes you who you are. You’re not like Prince Lotor, and you’re not like Keith either, and that’s a _good_ thing! I honestly don’t think I could _ever_ be BFFLs with Lotor like I am with you. And Keith is great and cool and all, but he’s no _Lance_, you know?” 

He looked down at his hands in his lap, watched his thumbs as he twiddled them together. “I know you think Allura is what you want,” he said, voice soft like he’s scared he’ll break Lance if he goes any louder, “but if you think that you need to go to all these lengths just to get her to notice that you _exist_, she’s not what you need. And I think you know that.”

Lance finally turned. He gripped at his elbow tight, fingers gripping the sleeve of his jacket like a lifeline; his eyes were dark and hollow, like stormclouds had rolled over blue skies, and his mouth was a tight, thin line. 

Regret simmered in Hunk’s belly like poison. “I’m sorry,” he immediately said. 

Lance’s voice came hesitantly. “It’s okay, Hunk.” Lance shuffled over in his socks, since he always took off his shoes at the door, and carefully settled back down on the bed. A familiar weight gently settled on Hunk’s shoulder, and Hunk immediately shifted to wrap his arm around Lance’s back, gratefully pulling him close.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Hunk quietly continued, tilting his head down onto Lance’s. 

“I know you didn’t.” A weary sigh blustered out of his friend. 

“I just _care_. I don’t like seeing you hurt over stuff like this, Lance. You were deluding yourself.”

“I know, big guy. And I appreciate it, more than anything.”

“I’ll always care, Lance. That’s what BFFLs are for, right?” Hunk smiled down at him.

“Right. BFFLs, man.” Lance drew away and smiled back, genuine but painfully lopsided in a way it wasn’t before. 

Hunk sighed and guided Lance’s head back down onto his shoulder. They sat in ambient quiet for a few dobashes, Lance’s leg anxiously bouncing providing the sole noise in the room.

“Hey,” Hunk eventually said.

“Yeah?”

“While we're on the subject,” Hunk said, “I hear Keith _hates_ key lime yogurt. Now you two can be a team and hate it together.”

“I never thought I’d say it about _Keith_,” Lance sighed, “but _finally_, someone with good taste.” 

* * *

“Princess Allura, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Lotor, you bad boy! Of course I will!”

Lance opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by nothing but white. He stood on a brilliant white dais, wearing a white suit, surrounded by anonymous people he didn’t know also wearing white.

He glanced around in confusion and bewilderment, and colors began to fade into existence: the pale yellow sun sat just over the horizon, in a pale green sky streaked with lavender wisps of cloud, and the rolling field they were in the middle of turned the bright fandango-pink of juniberry flowers. He looked down, and his tie was suddenly a shade of bright blue.

He looked back over as something in his periphery took color: Lotor and Allura, gazing lovingly into each others’ eyes under an ivy-covered archway, hardly even listening as a ceremonial priestess went through the rites.

Allura looked _ethereal_ in her wedding dress, a gorgeous rosy pink that matched her scales with a skirt that was just the right amount of poofy. She had fussed and _fussed_ about not wanting to look _too_ poofed up, but Lance had insisted that she have just _enough_ poof to elegantly swish around whenever she walked. Her snowy white hair tumbled down her back in loose, wavy curls, and a large crown of twinkling moonstone sat atop her head. Her marks were radiating pink light that softened her face, which had been wearing a dreamy smile all day. 

Lotor was dressed in the ceremonial armor of Altea’s many great kings, spiffied up to perfection from the brooch pinning the cape to his chest to the tips of his boots, and his own long hair was twisted into a braid, plaited with a vine of tiny pink flowers. He reached up to cup Allura’s face, stroking his thumb over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into it fondly, bringing her own hand up to cover his.

The priestess raised her arms in a theatrical arc of motion, great sleeves of billowing white silk pooling around her elbows. “Queen Allura of Altea, you may now kiss your bad boy prince!” she declared.

“Oh, how I’ve _waited_ for this day to come!” Allura swooned, falling into Lotor’s arms. “Ever since I was a young girl, all I’ve wanted was to find a tall, dark, handsome rebellious prince with a heart of gold. And now that I’ve married you, the man of my dreams, my life is complete!”

“Oh, _Allura_,” Lotor replied, taking hold of her waist and twisting, dipping her down toward the ground. “I was born with two purposes in life: to put a stop to my father’s reign, and to love you, and now that both reasons for me living have been fulfilled, I can now die a happy man!”

“How about you kiss me instead, you handsome devil?” Allura challenged with a roguish grin. 

“Yes, my queen!” Lotor bent down and kissed her like his life depended on it. Allura threw her arms around his neck and returned it with all she had, pouring every ounce of passion and love in her being back into him.

Lance opened his mouth to protest – shouldn’t they have asked for objections first?! – but, instead, he found himself clapping so hard his palms hurt. He was happy for them - they both deserved true happiness, after all the pain they'd endured, and he was glad they could finally find it in each other, now that the war was over. Besides, he'd worked too hard on this wedding to ruin it with any formalities like objections and holding your peace and whatnot. 

Lotor swung Allura back up onto her feet, and the two waved to the cheering crowd. Allura beamed over at Lance, radiating pure joy and delight, and bless him a grateful kiss, raising her hand up into the air as she sent it over to him.

An errant beam of dying sunlight glinted off of her brand new ring, and Lance raised his hand up to shield his eyes from it, blinking madly. 

As he warily lowered his hand again, testing to see if the intense light had faded, he jumped. Suddenly, his surroundings were jarringly _different_.

No longer was he standing on the edge of the dais in the middle of the juniberry fields. He was standing in the large ballroom of the Castle of Lions, lit up by curious orbs of soft golden light that appeared to be floating on their own. The front door was wide open, showing that the pale green sky outside had faded into a darker green, with only the faintest trace of the sun not yet extinguished on the horizon.

There was a crowd of people surrounding him, and he couldn’t distinguish any of their faces. Instead of being dressed in stark white, everything was a strange, nauseating blur of colors that shifted with the movement of each individual. Lance stared at the crowd and felt a faint tingle of motion sickness as he watched the colors shift too quickly, too rapidly for his brain to process.

Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, snapping him out of the reverie he’d fallen into. “Lance?” 

Lance spun around to see Keith, looking at him with a wrinkle of concern between his brows. “Hey!” he replied, a little startled. Did Keith look… different? He looked exactly the same as he always did, right down to the wide breadth of his shoulders and the dark purple stripes on each of his cheeks. But there was something about him that Lance couldn’t quite place. Did he do something different with his hair…? What _was_ it? 

He coughed to cover up his fright and leaned back against the balcony railing behind him, hands in his pockets. “What’s up?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith replied, stepping past him to prop his arms on top of the railing, bending over and casually crossing his ankles. “Hunk told me you were out here. What’s the matter, have too much of Coran’s nunvil?”

Lance shook his head. “Nah, just wanted some fresh air. It’s been so _weird_ and _crazy_ today… It almost feels like a dream.” He craned his head back to look up at the sky of New Altea, now a star-studded stretch of black. Wait, wasn’t he just inside the ballroom with everyone else? How did he get outside?

That faintly sick feeling roiled in his belly once again. Shaking his head, he bent down next to Keith, letting their arms brush as he folded them atop the railing. “What’s your excuse? Too cool to dance, tough guy?”

Keith smirked back at him. “You got me. Gotta maintain my bad boy reputation, y’know. Can’t have people knowing I _vaguely_ know how to salsa." 

“What, embarrassed of my teaching skills?” Lance teased. He bumped shoulders with Keith and draped a hand across his forehead, pretending to faint. “_Ay_, and I thought those dance lessons _meant_ something to you! Keith, how _could_ you!”

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Keith assured him, putting his hand on Lance’s arm and patting him in a gesture of comfort. He immediately undermined it by smirking, his lip twitching up to show a roguish flash of teeth. “Please try to understand. If people see me getting led around on the dance floor by a guy four inches shorter than me, then they might think they can cross me without getting stabbed, and you know I just can't have that." 

Something occurred to Lance. “That’s right,” he said slowly, “you _are_ taller than me.” He tilted his head and squinted, eyes flickering up and down Keith’s personage. “When did _that_ happen?”

His eyes shifted to Keith’s cheeks, where the dark stripes of purple disappeared into the collar of his red button-down. On instinct, he reached out and touched the one on Keith’s right cheek, cupping his face with a hand and running his thumb down the curve of the mark. “And where did you get these...?”

Keith’s breath hitched as Lance’s fingertips traced down his neck, stopping at the collar of his dress shirt.

“_Lance_,” he breathed, making Lance’s stomach give a happy little flutter at the sound of it. It quickly flopped though, as he took a step back, moving away and pulling himself out of Lance’s arms. Lance stepped after him, hand lingering on the hard line of Keith’s jawline, and Keith put a hand on his chest to stop him, the other holding him by the hip. “We should probably get you home soon. I think you did have too much nunvil after all.”

“No,” Lance murmured, looking up into the cool gray tones of Keith’s eyes. In this lighting, they looked purple, shifting tones of dusky indigo. “I think I’m just dreaming. Keith would _never_ let me do this in real life.”

“Do you _want_ him to?” Keith asked. He smiled sadly, and tilted his head into Lance’s hand, wrapping his hand around to cover Lance’s hand caressing his cheek. “I thought you wanted to be with Allura.” 

“I…” Lance bit his lip and looked down at Keith’s chest, just to get away from his sad eyes. He gulped and brought his own hand up, covering Keith’s hand on his chest, curling around fingers and keeping them there, over the pounding beat of his heart against his ribs. “I thought I did too. Ever since I first met her, that’s what I _thought_ I wanted.”

“But…?”

“But…” Lance glanced up at Keith, gauging his reaction carefully. Haltingly, uncertainly, he shuffled a half-step closer, the toes of their dress shoes bumping together, knees brushing against each other. “I think I know what I need, now.”

Keith smiled back down at him, and gave their hands clasped over Lance’s heart a gentle squeeze. “About time you stopped pretending, sharpshooter.”

Lance smiled back. “Thanks, samurai.”

Keith’s eyes crinkled at the corners at the nickname, and he brought their hands up to his mouth, kissing the soft part of Lance’s wrist with a smile. The hand on Lance’s hip wrapped around, curling behind to flatten against the small of Lance’s back, and the other slid up to rest just above it. He closed his eyes and leaned in with lightly parted lips that Lance never really considered until now, tilting his head to the left.

Lance let his eyes flutter shut, shifting up onto his tiptoes to press up against the strong, warm curve of Keith’s body. Something warm and surprisingly soft ghosted across his mouth, just barely there at all, and–

* * *

Lance shot up in bed with a gasp, heart hammering in his chest. The only sound in the room was his heavy breathing, and the confused squeaking of four sleepy, confused and irritated space mice squirming in his lap as they were disturbed by his sudden movement.

Lance swallowed, and ran a hand through his hair, slightly damp with cold sweat. With the other hand, he brushed his fingertips across his burning face, then lightly touched his lips, still warm and tingling. 

“Uh-oh.” Lance glanced down at the mice, then let his eyes trail up to the ceiling of his quarters, looking to the glow-in-the-dark stars for comfort. “I think we have a problem here.”

* * *


	2. How To Become A Bad Boy ('s Boyfriend)

The time for Keith to go out on another mission with the Blades eventually came, and just like every other time, it felt like it came far too soon.

Only been a few movements had passed since the last one, and they’ve accomplished a lot since then, but apparently, he needed Keith for some important mission about tracking something. He’d be gone for a movement, if things went well… or for all eternity, if things went badly, which tended to happen when Keith was involved. But whatever, who’s asking?

The goodbye committee went as usual - Allura, Matt and Pidge:

“Do have a safe voyage, Keith. I hope you return to us safe and in good health.” 

“Yeah! Don’t get lost on your way back to the base!”

“That’ll just be embarrassing for all of us!”

Then, Hunk and Coran:

“Since you mentioned that you ran out last time, I packed you lots of extra snacks this time. Don’t be afraid to call and ask me for some more, okay? I’ll send them out for you, I don’t care how much postage costs!”

“Or if you need anything else at all, don’t hesitate to give me a ring! I’m always available, Number Four, no matter the hour! Except, actually, don’t call between 2 and 5 vargas. That’s my Special Alone Time. But any other time is fair play!” 

And, of course, Shiro:

“Be safe out there, Keith.”

Keith pulled out of his hug with Shiro and looked around the ring of people gathered around him, as if something was missing. Or, rather someone.

A pointed cough came from behind him. “Um, forgetting someone?”

Keith whirled around, and– “There you are,” he greeted, a little too enthusiastically. He coughed to casually cover his excitement, and stepped over. “I was wondering where you were hiding.”

“_Somebody_ had to make sure Prince L’Oreal wasn’t up to anything shady while we’re all out here. Just ‘cause he done nothing but help us so far doesn’t make me trust him.” Lance rolled his eyes and folded his arms in obvious displeasure. “Do I get a goodbye, too, or are you in _such_ a big hurry?”

Keith smirked. “Oh, I dunno,” he said loftily. He looked up at the ceiling in pretend thought, idly strolling over. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg, mirroring Lance’s posture. “I really _do_ need to get going, if I want to make it before the gate closes. If I got locked out, that would just be _so_ _embarrassing_.”

Lance tsked. “Hate to see that,” he agreed.

“Buuuut,” Keith continued with a grin, “if you need a hug so badly, then I guess I can spare a few tics.”

As Keith stepped forward, raising his arms up, Lance suddenly threw up a hand to hold him off. “I,” Lance said haltingly, looking back at him and forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace, “am good. Thanks.” 

“Oh,” was all he could think of. A little shaken, a little hurt, Keith dropped his arms and stepped back like Lance’s proximity had burned him. “Oh-kay then…”

Lance glimpsed away, pressing his lips together. “Er…” He rubbed the back of his neck and stuck his other hand in his jacket pocket, seemingly just as lost for words. “Well… just… come back to us in one piece, okay?”

Keith bit his cheek. “Yeah. I will,” he promised, unable to keep the confusion and disappointment out of his voice. “Thanks.”

Lance looked down at his shoes, more intent on examining the scuffed-up toes of his sneakers instead. Keith’s heart sank all the way down to the ground. To keep Lance from seeing his face change, Keith turned away and headed back toward his ship. “Bye, Lance.”

He ignored the confused, surprise faces of the group as he passed by them and hauled himself up into his ship. He gave them all one last resounding goodbye before he closed the hatch. Lance walked up to join the back of the group, once he and Keith were safely separated by a barrier of transparisteel. His face was no longer unreadable, instead a cocktail of regret and self-reproach and uncertainty.

And… longing?

Keith’s hands shook on the yoke.

* * *

“Lance?”

Lance, in a fatal mistake, glanced back at the sound of his name. “Allura! What–”

Suddenly, something swiped his legs out from under him, and the world flipped as he was laid out on his back, hitting the floor hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Muscles screaming with adrenaline, Lance opened his eyes where he'd instinctively closed them and _flung_ himself to the side, shouting from the effort, rolling over and narrowly missing a hit.

Using his momentum, he popped up onto his feet and pelted for his bayard, scrambling low to the floor as the air current above him shifted. He swiped his broadsword off of the ground and spun around just in time to swing it upward to block a blow meant for his back. The _clang_ of two swords striking together rang in Lance's ears, and the impact tingled through his arms, making him grit his teeth from the pins-and-needles sensation.

Suddenly, the training droid grabbed his blade with its free hand, metal fingers curling around it, and angled its arm so that their guards slotted together with a _clack_. Lance's eyes widened as realization hit him, but there was scarcely time to even gasp as his blade was wrenched downward, so that it was pointed to the ground instead of his target.

The gladiator rounded off to his left, sliding to the side with the fluidity of water, hooking its sword around his and yanking it right out of his hands. His bayard flew away from him, clattering to the floor and sliding way way out of reach.

Disarmed, Lance helplessly dropped to the floor and threw his arms up as the bot backspun and brought its sword down toward him.

A tick.

Two.

Three.

Then, Lance opened his eyes and lifted his head - only to come face to face with the business end of the gladiator’s sword, so close that he had to go cross-eyed to see the menacingly sharp edge.

With a defeated groan, he bonelessly sunk to the ground, flopping onto his back and dropping an arm over his face. "End training sequence." There was a flash and a whiz, and the gladiator bot dissolved into nonexistence. Similarly, his bayard devolved from his broadsword into its dormant form.

Footsteps walked over to him. “Need some help?”

Lance lifted his arm off of his face and found Allura's outstretched hand, her gentle smile and kind eyes. "Yes please.” Lance took her hand. She yanked him up to his feet like he weighed nothing at all, and he briefly stumbled, trying to regain balance from being righted so quickly. She braced him with a hand on his chest. “Whew! Always forget how strong you are."

Allura's mouth curved, amused. She brushed at a scuff on his cuirass, biting her inner cheek when it didn't come off.

"You did rather well just then," she remarked. "You've improved marvelously, in such a short time span, too. You do my father proud, by wielding his sword with such aptitude."

His cheeks prickled with heat. "Really?"

"Really," Allura affirmed, her smile growing wider. "You're shaping up to be a fine swordsman, and an even finer Paladin."

Lance looked away, too flustered to maintain eye contact. Between her flattering words and her proximity to him, he felt strangely... rankled. "Thank you, Princess," he choked out around his gratitude.

"If you ever need any pointers - or if you'd like to have an actual sparring partner - then simply feel free to ask. My services are always available to you, if you require them." She tilted her head back and smiled up at him, so pretty and well-meaning, and…. full of ulterior motive.

So Allura had an agenda, then.

“Thanks,” Lance repeated, stepping out of her space bubble and putting his hands on his hips. “So, no offense to you – this is your castle and all, you can go anywhere you like – but uh… what are you doing here? Did you need something?”

“What, I cannot simply swing by and visit my favorite hard-working paladin during training?” she teased, shimmying her shoulder at him with a wink.

Lance raised an eyebrow at her, bemused. “Not really, no…”

Something about his response made the sparkling humor in her eyes go dim, and her smile died. “Oh...” Allura rubbed her arm awkwardly. “Well... that's... fair, I suppose." She cleared her throat. "Er. I simply wished to discuss a matter of importance with you.”

Lance held his hands up in surrender. “If this is about whoever put a ‘kick me’ sign on Lotor’s back, it wasn’t me.” 

“No, no. Although that _was_ quite humorous, that is not why I’m here.” Allura coughed delicately to clear her throat. “I wanted to discuss the subject of you and Keith, and your odd behavior during his departure earlier this movement.”

Lance’s face froze. “Nothing to talk about there, Princess!” he chirped, forcibly cheery. He turned and made his way over to his bayard, now in its dormant form, and scooped it off of the floor.

Allura furrowed her brows. “On the contrary,” she protested, following behind him as he made to leave the training deck. She jogged to catch up with his long strides. “You showed up late to his send-off, you denied him an embrace, you’ve been changing the topic every time he comes up in conversation, _and_ you’ve been spending all of your free time in here, training incessantly. Have you two had another disagreement?” 

Lance shook his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“Then what happened?” 

“Nothing.”

"But something had to've happened!"

"Nothing happened!"

“Do you take me for a fool? That’s nonsense, and you and I both know it!”

A hand on his shoulder brought Lance to a halt, and he was tugged around to face Allura once again.

“Lance,” Allura firmly began, her jewel eyes shining resolutely. “I know I... may not have been a very good companion to you, here recently." They briefly flickered away from his, shimmering with surprising hesitance, but then darted back, the determined gleam in them hardening. "But I'm _concerned_ for you. We all are! You haven't seemed like yourself lately. And if the cause is because you and Keith are not seeing eye-to-eye, then I wish to help however I can!”

“This isn’t something you can really help, Princess.” Lance stepped back, pulling his arm out of her grip.

“Why not?” Allura challenged, arms going stiff at her sides. “Why can't I help?”

“Because we didn’t _have_ a fight.”

“Then what happened to cause such a strange divide between you?”

“I–“ Lance shut his mouth, clamping down on the answer that almost slipped out thanks to the heat of the moment. Allura leaned forward, eagerly listening, giving him the Altean princess version of puppy dog eyes. Lance uneasily looked away; he was by no means immune to the puppy dog eyes, and his willpower was already wobbly enough without Allura hitting him full-force like that. “I just…” Lance nervously twisted his fingers together, still avoiding Allura’s probing gaze. “I just… wasn't in a huggy mood, is all.”

"You? Not desiring physical affection?" Contrarily, that only seemed to grow her suspicion. "That's even more unusual than having a disagreement with Keith."

Lance wracked his brain, desperately searching for something that would fix the hole he'd dug himself. "Look, Princess, it's really nothing," he amended. "Me and Keith, we're good. We're Gucci, I promise. I just... got kinda overwhelmed, is all."

Allura squinted at him, calculated and all-knowing. The look on her face showed Lance that she was close to figuring it out – _very_ close, alarmingly close. “Overwhelmed…? By what?”

“By…” Lance glanced at his wrist. “Oh, would you look at the time?” he suddenly asked, tapping the back of his gauntlet. He even raised it up to show Allura, much to her confusion. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve gotta go - gotta help Pidge out with some… some video game stuff. Super hard boss to beat and all that. I’ll give her your greetings and junk.”

He turned on his heel and stiff-leggedly walked to the training deck entrance. “Later, Princess!”

The doors swished open to allow him through, leaving Allura staring after him in confusion.

And concern.

* * *

“So, Lance…”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Please don’t get mad at me for asking, but… what’s up with you and Keith?”

So Hunk had an agenda, then. Allura must have spoken to him.

Lance kept his eyes forward, pointedly looking right past the video feed in his left periphery. “What do you mean?” 

From the corner of his eye, Hunk gave him a knowing look. “You acted really weird when we were sending him off the other day,” he said, and from the tone of voice, he knew something Lance didn’t. “What was up with that?

“We’re not fighting, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lance said, purposefully keeping his voice light.

Onscreen, Hunk squinted. “That’s good,” he said.

“Yep, all good,” Lance agreed.

“So, since you’re not fighting, are you still trying to figure out how to execute the plan?”

“There is no more plan,” Lance said, flexing his fingers on the controls. “It was bad – it was a very bad plan, very very bad.”

“What? But you _never_ have bad plans!”

“Well, this was. Too many holes, half of it didn’t even make sense.” Lance pressed Red forward into a slightly faster flight, edging past Yellow to fall in line behind Green and Blue as they followed Black. His sensors detected Yellow picking up speed to keep up; making sure he wasn’t running away using Red’s superior speed, no doubt. “Allura doesn’t like me more than a friend. She’s got a real thing for Lotor, which is real cool for her because he’s definitely into her too. If I ever had a chance to begin with, it’s gone now. That’s clear to me now.” 

Hunk nodded encouragingly. “And?”

“And… even if it _was_ a good plan, even if he _was_ willing to help me, I should have never gone to Keith for tips in the first place. It would’ve never worked out, he isn’t Allura’s type at all in retrospect.”

“Aaand?”

Lance’s brows furrowed. “Aaand _what_?”

“Did you maybe realize anything _else_?” Hunk hedged hopefully.

“Like what?”

“Like… oh, I dunno… maybe some… _feelings_ or something?”

Lance stiffened. There it was. “Feelings?” he asked, pitching his voice high in apparent confusion. He waved his hand at Hunk’s face dismissively. His hand merely passed through the projection, causing it to beep at him in warning. “What are you even talkin’ about? Wh – psh, feelings? What are _feelings_? I don’t got those, psh. Crazy talk, Hunk, _crazy_.” A nervous titter escaped him before he could stop it, and Lance focused back on Red’s controls, anxiously biting his lips together.

Hunk deadpanned. “You used your lying accent, Lance.”

“I don’t know what that _is_, Hunk!” Lance instantly blew up, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’ve never even _been_ to New York! How can I talk like I’m from there, but only when I’m lying?! Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now??”

“Almost as ridiculous as _you_ trying to tell me you don’t have feelings,” Hunk snipped.

“Whatever, man.” Lance rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize any feelings about _anything_, if that’s what you’re implying here.”

“Oh, really?” Hunk asked. “You didn’t _realize_ that you’ve liked Keith this entire time, and that’s why you always wanted to hang out with him and get his attention and flirt with him, hiding your real feelings under the pretense of ‘practicing’ for Allura or whatever it was you stupidly told him? You didn’t _realize_ that you like Keith a lot, even though girls have been the only option for you since your whole life, and suddenly liking your dude teammate is so scary and confusing for you that you had an identity crisis all night long instead of sleeping, and you were so overwhelmed about it that you didn’t even want Keith to hug you before he left? You didn’t _realize_ that you pushed him away and he keeps coming back, because he genuinely likes you too and you know that in the back of your mind, but real, true love with commitment and stuff kinda scares you deep down, especially when you’re both in the line of danger so often? You didn’t _realize_ any of that after your big attempt to try out the whole bad boy persona on Allura failed miserably and you panicked when it hit you that you don’t really like her as much as you like Keith? You didn’t realize anything along those lines, Lance? ….Lance? Buddy?” 

Hunk leaned forward to inspect the video screen, checking if it was somehow frozen or not. “Did we lose connection or something, man…? You’re just sitting there frozen…”

Lance shakily let go of the breath he was holding, and willed his hands to loosen up on the yoke. He flexed his fingers to will the circulation back into them. Hunk looked relieved to know that he hadn’t been dropped. “H-how… did you know all of that…?”

Hunk smiled at him, sad and knowing. “BFFLs, bro,” he said simply.

With a trembling sigh, Lance let his head hang. “What do I do, Hunk..?”

“Talk to Keith,” Hunk said. “When he gets back from this top secret mission he’s on right now, tell him how you feel."

Lance looked up at him, shocked. "What?! No way!"

"Why not?" Hunk challenged. "There's two ways this can go. You can confess, and he won't reciprocate, but at least you can get closure and start to move on. Orrrr... you can confess, and maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same, and you two can have something."

Lance's heart fluttered at the mere idea of him and Keith, _having something_. He hadn't ever considered what could lay beyond the single-point events his brain concocted at night; he never let himself think about what could come after the dramatic confession or the big romantic kiss scene, he merely ended the story.

"How do I... confess?" Lance asked, stumbling over the word 'confess' like it was a dirty word. "I mean... this is _Keith_. How am I just supposed to..." He took his hands off of the controls and waved them helplessly, hoping that would encompass all of his abstract emotions.

"Just do it," Hunk said immediately, like he'd had the answer locked and loaded for a while. "Jump right in. It'll come together from there."

Heart in his throat at the mere suggestion, Lance sat back in his seat. “Okay. If you think it’s a good idea, then I’ll… I’ll talk to Keith."

“Just jump right in,” Hunk finished for him.

“Just jump right in,” Lance echoed. “Jump right in. Got it.”

* * *

Whenever Kolivan called you into his private quarters to chat, it was rarely good news.

Every one of the Blades knew that, but Keith knew it better than some. He was called into Kolivan’s room quite often, to be given stern lectures and stricter punishments for disobeying orders.

It was no different than being sent to the principal’s office at the Garrison, which happened just as often. Only, Kolivan was much, much scarier.

Keith arrived at Kolivan’s room far too soon. Every step was an uphill battle with the heavy weight of dread, and even then, it only took him two minutes to walk there – he should’ve taken the scenic route.

He raised his hand up to knock, out of habit, but they slid open at the proximity of his hand. Slightly caught off guard – he’d never get used to _not_ knocking; he’d _had_ to learn to after living with Shiro during the Adam years – he awkwardly cleared his throat and poked his head into the room. “It’s Keith. Vrek said you wanted to see me.”

“In here.”

Keith stepped into the room and traveled through another door, where the office was. A still, cold chill hung in the air, and Keith’s face quickly felt it, the tip of his nose already growing icy.

Kolivan sat behind a wide, utilitarian desk in the back, grim and menacing as ever. He nodded in greeting as Keith approached him.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from the desk.

“Thanks.” Keith sat as commanded, resting his hands in his lap. Kolivan said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at him with those piercing, probing eyes, gazing right through him. Keith tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny, but he’d been so _wired_ after that weird encounter with Lance on the flight hangar, and the way Kolivan never seemed to _blink_ was rapidly creeping him the hell out. 

“So am I in trouble or what?” he finally snapped, after what must’ve been a literal minute of being stared at.

Kolivan finally blinked. “Not as of right now,” he said, folding his hands together atop the desk. “However, that remains to be seen for this next mission.”

“With, er… Krolia, right?” Keith had read the mission report during his trip back here, just to try and distract himself from what had happened with Lance in the shuttle bay, but it had proved ineffective, and only the most basic details had sunk in, like the name of his partner and the operation date. He’d intended to go over it once again tonight, since he’d need to depart tomorrow so he could rendezvous with her by the end of the movement; like cramming the night before a test. “To find out where that unusual quintessence signature is coming from?”

“Indeed,” Kolivan confirmed. “The signature has been detected in an unusually _dangerous_ area of space. According to Krolia, who is already in position on the edge of the quadrant, the area is occupied with dark stars, which are notoriously unstable. It will require peak physical capability, utmost stealth, _precise_ execution of direct orders, and a clear headspace.” His gaze sharpened. “The latter of which you lack.” 

Keith grimaced. So that’s where this was going…

Kolivan continued, “Since you arrived here at the end of last quintant, you have been nothing but ill-tempered, moody and preoccupied. For you to remain on this mission, you must place all focus in preparing for it. I do not wanting one of my most valuable operatives getting killed for his own inability to remain unattached.”

Keith gaped at Kolivan. “Are you _serious_?” he snapped, his shock finally giving way to indignance and anger. “I’m professional enough to put my feelings aside for the sake of the mission! Kolivan, how could you think that? Do you not have _any_ faith in me?!”

“This is not about whether or not I have _faith_ in you, Keith,” Kolivan replied evenly. “How can I not think that you might be emotionally compromised? The members of Team Voltron have always proven themselves to be a most dangerous distraction for you.” Kolivan squinted at him one yellow eye.

Keith froze, his face growing warm despite the chill of Kolivan’s office.

Kolivan went on when Keith failed to respond. “As your superior officer, I must remind you that romantic engagements and liaisons of sexual nature are forbidden among the Blades, with the only exceptions being biological requirements such as mandatory mating cycles. Unfortunately for you, I know that earthlings do not have such requirements, nor do Galra, so you are out of luck if you wished to cover up your inclinations. If you wish to officially pursue a romantic engagement with the blue one, then you must retire your place here.”

“That won’t be a _problem_, Kolivan!” Keith yelled hoarsely, forgetting to keep his volume in check out of embarrassment. “Sure, I’m into Lance romantically and stuff, but trust me, a… _romantic engagement_… is _not_ on the table.” He crossed his arms and looked down at his knees, squeezing his upper arm to try and ward off tears. “He’s into Princess Allura, so. Yeah. It won’t be a problem.”

He squeezed his arm tighter, hard enough to hurt, as the sting of tears grew sharper. He'd _just_ insisted that he was professional enough to ignore his emotions - breaking down over his pathetic love life in front of his boss would not only be humiliating, but it would make him a liar, and his pop didn’t raise no liar.

“Keith.” The softness of Kolivan’s voice surprised Keith into looking up. Kolivan still stared at him unblinkingly, but there was a trace of… empathy on his face. His scowl wasn’t as severe, a bit softer than it was a moment ago. “For the record… I apologize that you must feel this way. I know from experience that emotional entanglements only lead to pain, especially for those like us in the Blade. That is the reason why the rule was established in the first place: to attempt to prevent such pain. Yet, despite our best efforts, some things simply cannot be prevented.” He glanced off to the side and stared at nothing for a moment, as if recalling memories from long ago.

That _almost_ sounded comforting. For it to come from Kolivan, that meant a lot. Keith smiled despite the tears threatening to well up.

“I know, Kolivan,” he rasped, voice tight from almost crying. He’d bottled the urge to angry-cry right up once he got in the ship and left the Castle, and the pressure had been building for a week and a half – he was due to erupt soon, and he’d prefer to do that in the privacy of his tiny, cold, cramped bedroom. 

“Is that all?” he asked.

Kolivan nodded. “Yes, you may leave now.”

Keith dipped his head. He stood up from the chair and turned to leave the office. He hesitated before he crossed into the main room, and turned back. “Thanks, Kolivan.”

Kolivan nodded in acknowledgment. “You are welcome.”

Keith disappeared into the main room, and exited from his quarters with a swish of the doors. Kolivan sighed once he was in isolation once more, and allowed himself to sag down in his chair, in a rare, unseen moment of exhaustion. “That boy…” he mused, reaching up to rub his temples. 

* * *

The Blue Paladin was one of the strangest creatures Lotor has ever encountered.

(…or, technically, he was really the Red Paladin, even though he still wore the blue armor for some reason. It was all very confusing, especially since Lance refused to explain it to him.)

Anyway, Lotor’s opinion still stood firm, and only grew stronger with every passing day. Lance was very strange, indeed. A most intriguing specimen, although he’d never met any earthlings before this bunch, so perhaps their strangeness was simply a trait of the species as a whole. Stars know the other earthlings were just as odd as him. The most _normal_ one was Voltron’s enigmatic Blade of Marmora liaison Keith, whose mannerisms, psychology, and demeanor in general was uncannily Galra-like.

Though the green paladin had a startling affinity for crawling through the vents for some reason, and the yellow one often monopolized the kitchen area to commence with a long ritual known as 'stress baking', and the former black paladin still gave him unreasonably _creepy_ vibes for reasons he had yet to decipher, Lotor had yet to find the other earthlings in a situation quite like _this_.

Sitting on the kitchen floor next to the refrigerator unit, alone, eating snacks late in the quintant was Lance, dressed in a robe with decidedly Altean embellishments, fine patterns woven into the hem, with matching blue pajamas underneath. On his feet were two different shoes, slippers which bore resemblances to like the Red and Blue Lions, respectively. On his hands were black gloves that Lotor had never seen him wearing before, snug and fingerless with a red cuff at the wrist. His bronze-colored face was disconcertingly green, _bright_ _green_, and atop his head, a towel was tightly twisted, hiding his hair like a damp blue leech. Next to him, on the ground, was a glass of white-colored liquid and fairly large platter of brown, delicious-smelling confections that the yellow paladin had no doubt whipped up – 'brownies', weren't they called?

Lotor stared down at him, full squiwl-in-the-headlights mode.

“Er… might I ask what–“

“No, you might not,” Lance cut him off. He shoved one of the treats into his mouth, and a shower of crumbs fell from his mouth as he spoke next. “Get what you came for and leave, Lotor, I’m busy.”

“You don’t _appear_ to be busy…” Lotor hesitantly observed.

“I am,” Lance insisted, pausing to take a sip of the white-colored drink – Allura had told him it was called 'milk', and it was from that terrifying Earth creature they kept in the lower decks of the castle, the 'cow' called Kaltenecker. “Eating brownies requires a _lot_ of focus for us earthlings, so make like a tree and get out of here, would’ja?”

Lotor squinted down at Lance as he took another ‘brownie’ and chomped off half of it. “Fine, I’ll leave. But, er…why does your face look like… _that_?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m _molting_,” he said as if it was obvious.

“_Oh_. Oh, I-I do apologize, I didn’t realize,” Lotor rushed to say, averting his eyes back to a strange, crudely drawn picture of Voltron hanging on the fridge. Molting was an _intensely_ private affair among many species he’d met, particularly insectoids and reptilians, but in others it wasn’t _unheard_ of, and the last thing he wanted to do is cause trouble here. “Erm. Might I get to the fridge…?”

Lance paused, glancing back over his shoulder, as if just realizing that his position blocked the fridge from being accessed. With a begrudging sigh, he scooted over until his back leaned against the wood of cupboards, granting enough space for him to pass.

“Thank you.” Lotor opened the fridge and sought out a container of flavored colloidal sustenance. 'Key lime', Allura had told him the humans dubbed it.

Suddenly, something occurred to him. 

Lotor closed the fridge door, and he looked back down at Lance, befuddled. “Did you just call me by my _actual_ name and not some contrived nickname you pulled out of thin air?”

“Nope,” Lance instantly said. “I don’t even _know_ your name, man. What is it again? Lawrence? Lorenzo? Hm, can’t recall it. Too bad. Oh well, must've not been important.”

Lotor squinted down at him, highly suspicious. Lance avoided eye contact, lacing his fingers together atop his knee, rubbing his thumb over his palm almost soothingly. It occurred to Lotor that, no, his face was not actually green, but it was merely coated in something that smelled _intensely _of mint from this close.

“Is something wrong? You appear to be in…” Lotor paused, regarding the crumbs in Lance’s lap; the two different slippers; the unusual addition of the weird gloves; the slouch in his posture; the weak, almost _forced_ aggravation in his tone when he was normally strongly disdained by Lotor’s very presence; the fact that he’d just been sitting by himself in the dark, eating those ‘brownies’ for Brodar knows how long. “…rather _poor_ spirits.”

“In _this_ economy? Who’s got _good_ spirits?” Lance rolled his eyes again, heaving an irritated sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Now can you go?”

“No, I cannot.” Fully aware that he might be poking a caged klanmüirl with a sharp stick, Lotor placed his sustenance container on the countertop and bent down to Lance’s level, and carefully sat. “What is your problem, my friend?”

Lance shot him an unexpectedly fierce scowl. “Hypothetically speaking,” he began, with the measured patience of someone who was holding back immense irritation, “even if I _did_ have a problem, then what makes you think I’d tell _you_? In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t trust you. I make it a point to not divulge personal information to people I don’t trust, _my friend_.”

“That is quite wise of you,” Lotor admitted. Lance recoiled a bit, blinking in surprise. “However good my intentions with you all are, I respect that you do not take that at face value. Regardless, you are one of my few allies, and no matter how much you might dislike me, I _always_ make it a priority to take into account the state of all my allies. And you, my friend, do not appear to be in good condition right now.” He gestured down to Lance’s feet, where identical slippers of two different colors kept his feet warm. “People of sound mind do not wear two different shoes and gloves with no fingers while impulse-eating sweets in the dead of the night.”

“I didn’t want to hurt Blue’s feelings by wearing Red’s slippers,” Lance protested, pulling his feet closer to himself. “And if I was stuck on wearing just Blue’s slippers, then Red would get upset. This was the best compromise.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Lotor said, not wanting to question the powerful, otherworldly machines that were _somehow_ quasi-sentient. “But the remainder of that statement still stands. You’ve been like this for nearly two movements now, so sullen and skittish and wholly unlike your usual self. Your companions are all concerned for you, clearly - Allura, especially, has been quite worried."

Lance shrugged and looked away, absentmindedly tugging on his gloves once more. "Well, there's nothing for her to worry about. I'm fine."

Something occurred to Lotor, miraculously and out of nowhere, appearing in the obscure back corner of his mind as he glanced down at the gloves on Lance’s hand. He chased it this time, and as he grew nearer, it solidified around the memory of those gloves, familiar on someone else’s hands...

“Your friend Keith is supposed to be returning tomorrow," Lotor remarked. "You two are incredibly close, are you not? Are you not excited to see him once more, after two movements?”

Lance stiffened at the mention of Keith. "I am," he said, defensive.

"Then why are you not in your usual high spirits?"

Lance didn’t reply, biting his lip pensively. Lotor watched him wage war with himself, a battle playing out over his expression. Finally, the stubbornly mistrustful side of him seemed to surrender, and Lance heaved a defeated sigh.

“’Cause I have something to tell him.” He laced his fingers together in his lap and turned his hands over, thumb stroking reverently over the worn leather of his gloved palm. Even from profile, his expression grew vulnerable, with a soft, sad kind of fear that brokered the acceptance of an inevitable conclusion. “And it’s gonna ruin _everything_.”

Lotor suddenly realized what this was all about.

“_Oh_,” he couldn’t help but say.

Lance, someone who seemed physically incapable of staying silent, remained quiet.

Lotor shifted. Then, shifted again. Fidgeting nervously, he toyed with the pull-tab of the lid on his flavored colloidal sustenance. "I," he reluctantly began, "am an expert in many fields. Xenobiology, Altean anthropology, linguistics, pragmatism and leadership, empirical research, politics, stratagem, battle tactics, combat... And I'm certainly no slouch in a variety of other fields, to add. Ten-thousand decapheobs of life affords one a lot of time for education. I'm highly accomplished, in every sense of the word."

Lance shot him a dirty look. "If bragging about your accomplishments is your idea of making me feel better..."

Lotor shook his head. "No, no, that isn't what I meant." He tilted his head back to look helplessly at the ceiling. "This is the point I was attempting to make. Despite my many, many strong points-"

"Like your modesty," Lance interjected, brimming with sarcasm.

"...I could never grasp the nuances of interpersonal sociology beyond a fundamental level," Lotor confessed. He let out a humorless laugh. It, so bitter-sounding, made Lance's glare soften into something sad and sympathetic. "I will not go into the sordid details. However, to say that relationships, romantic or otherwise, are slightly beyond me... well, it would be quite a drastic understatement."

He turned to regard Lance, whose face had gone gentle, soft with sympathy.

"But you... your connections are steadfast, and permanent, and that extends to your friend Keith," he continued. "I doubt that there's anything in the multiple universi that you could say that would ruin anything about your relationship - including what I highly suspect it is that you're fretting over. That's easy to distinguish, even for a... interpsonally-challenged individual like myself, to see."

Lance blinked, then blinked again.

"Wait," he said. "Is the plural of 'universe' seriously universi? Because that _sounds_ fake, but I don't know enough about universes to dispute it."

Lotor rolled his eyes. “If you truly believe that this is going to ruin _anything_ about you two, then my intial assumptions about just how foolish you are will be correct. But that’s no surprise.” Lotor chuckled. “Love _is_ blind, I suppose… At least you are rather humorous when you try to be.”

Lance curled his lip at the sudden turnaround in Lotor's support. “Okay, see, this is why I don’t _like_ you, man,” he complained, getting to his feet. He bent down to pick up the platter of brownies and the glass of milk, and then straightened back up to scowl down at Lotor. “I came here to have a late night breakdown in _peace_, not to be insulted by a guy who’s too scared to go near a _cow_.”

“Of course I’m afraid to go near it!” Lotor exploded, clambering up to his feet to protest better as Lance turned away, chin raised haughtily. “All it does is stand there, _watching_ me with those big, dead black voids you call its eyes! Who _knows_ what it knows and what it's capable of doing with all the _sinister knowledge_ it accrues!”

“Hey, don’t feel bad, man,” Lance cooed, turning back to pat his shoulder condescendingly. “Allura still likes you, even though you're a jerk who's too wussy to go near a harmless Earth cow.” He raised his chin. “But, hey, at least love is blind, right?"

Lotor rolled his eyes. “Alright. Perhaps I deserved that.”

“Maybe just a little,” Lance snickered. He grabbed a decorative napkin and placed three more brownies onto it, then recovered the platter of brownies in a sheet of shiny, crinkled foil, taking care to seal the edges. He pushed it back to its original spot and turned back to Lotor. He squinted up at Lotor, as if considering something. “Y’know… maybe it’s just really late and I need to get to sleep, or maybe I’m just losing it, but… consider yourself initiated.”

Lotor, confused, cocked his head. “I… beg your pardon?”

“For helping me feel better? You’re initiated.” Lance bowed his head. “Congrats on passing the _sali-fee_. I now officially accept you as an ally of Voltron.” He raised his eyebrows rather loftily. “Feel honored.” 

“Oh, thank you, I do indeed!” Lotor paused in his excitement. “Although, did you not mean the _sah-lii-fuerl_…?”

“I said that.”

“No, I’m fairly certain you said–“

“Don’t push your luck, Lucario.”

“Right. Apologies.”

Lance turned his head away and yawned. “Well, I’ll leave you to your gross yogurt now. I’ve gotta go wash this stuff off my face,” he said. He turned to leave, but paused at the last second, turning around to face him once more, a menacing glint in his eye. “If you tell anyone about what transpired here…” He trailed off, letting his hand drift down to his throat, and flattened his hand to mime slicing it, then pointed back to him.

Lotor zipped his lips. “You have my word.”

“Great.” Lance grabbed his brownies and milk, then turned to depart from the kitchen. “See ya, Lotor.”

“Good night, Lance. And good luck in your endeavors for tomorrow.”

The lights went dim once Lance traveled down the hallway and out of range. Lotor turned to the platter of brownies, now sitting by itself on the counter, covered. He pulled it toward him and peeled the foil off, and carefully took a brownie for himself. He glanced around before taking a bite, and his face lighting up was enough to brighten the entire dark kitchen.

* * *

_Knock knock knock. _

Lance jumped at the unexpected sound of a knock on his door. His arm jerked in panic, nearly making him touch his forehead with the sizzling hot hair straightener. He grimaced at the thought and carefully moved the iron away from his head. “It’s open!” he yelled, leaning over to nudge the manual close on the door with his elbow, then turned back to the mirror to straighten out the rest of his wavy hair. 

Through the door came the muffled sound of the doors opening, then footsteps. “Lance?”

Lance froze. “K-Keith?” he squeaked out. “You’re… back early!”

“Yeah, my mission didn’t go so well. It was too dangerous, we had to back out or else risk being destroyed by space-time drop-offs. Kolivan gave me the week off, since it was such a close mission.” There was another three-toned knock, and then Keith’s voice piped up again, closer than before, practically right next to him. “Are you busy right now…?”

Lance nearly dropped the hair straightener in panic, and fumbled to catch it. “N-no, I’ll just be–“ Hot pain seared through his fingers as he accidentally grabbed the hot end. He dropped it fast as lightning, clutching his hand to his chest. “_Ow_! Sonofa–”

The hot iron clattered onto the sink then fell to the ground, and took everything he had on the counter off with it. As his gel mousse and rejuvenating serum met unfortunate ends all across the bath rug, Lance dove to rescue his hair drier from a watery death in the toilet, and his metal can of hairspray clattered into the sink, racketing around in the basin and creating the loudest noise in the universe.

The metal can finally stopped rattling around. Lance allowed himself to stop cringing and cracked open one eye.

“What was that? Lance, are you okay in there?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine!” he choked out, moving back to lean against the closed doors. “I’m, uh, pretty busy right now! Real busy– real, real busy, Keith! Can I, uhh, take a rain check, catch up with you tomorrow? This’ll take me all day, a-and I don’t wanna keep you waitin’ or nothin’.”

“Uh… sure, okay. Just don’t knock yourself out in there...”

“I won’t! Thanks!”

Hand still clutched to his chest, Lance listened close as Keith’s footsteps walked away from the bathroom, fading into obscurity and leaving him with the pounding beat of his own excited heart.

As soon as the doors _swoosh_ed shut, Lance rushed over to the sink and pulled the hairspray out of the basin, cranking on the cold water and sticking his stung fingers underneath. He hissed out as many curse words as he dared, just to vent out the pain.

Lance looked up at himself in the mirror. “Just jump right in…” he muttered. “Yeah, right.”

* * *

“Hey.” 

“What’s up, mullet?”

“Hey, so– wait, what happened to your hand there?”

“Oh, this? Just a little burn. Nothing worth a healing pod.”

“Oh. Well. Glad it’s not any worse.”

“Yeah, really! Oh, wait – ooh, I _just_ remembered, Coran asked me to help him update and re-alphabetize the first half of the recognized lifeform index, exus through mai-ox. I totally forgot that was today, shoot. I’m running super late, I hope he’s not mad at me. I’ll have to catch you some other time… unless you want to come with me and help, I mean.” 

“Uh, no, no thanks, that’s cool. I’ll just find you later.”

“Great! See ya later.”

“See ya…”

* * *

“Hey, Lance.”

“Hey, Keith.”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Actually… yeah, I am. Pidge is waiting for me in Red’s hangar. She’s gonna help me fix some of the sensors that got totally fried in the whole Omega Shield incident. _Pluuus_ I need to buff out some dents and scratches on Red’s armor, and maybe give him a manicure or something. Gotta give him the pampering he deserves, right?” 

“Right. Well, I’ll catch you later then.”

“For sure. Later, Keith!” 

“Later.”

* * *

“Shiro, this might be a silly question, but… have you seen Lance?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. Sorry. Why, are you looking for him?”

“Actually, yeah, I am. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about something.”

“Well, if I see him, I’ll tell him to come find you. I’ll even make it an order, if you want me to.”

“Thanks, Shiro.”

“Sure thing.”

* * *

“_Lance_."

Lance didn’t even look up from his comm. unit. “One sec,” he said, flat and unfocused.

It appeared that he was playing one of the little pre-installed games that came with it, the one that was basically Bejeweled but the colors of them gems are all weird and mixed up. Apparently, on Altea, diamonds were chartreuse.

He seemed like he was doing pretty well, getting on up there in levels, making all the high scores… which sucked when Keith bent down and snatched it out of his hands.

“Hey!” Lance jumped up from the couch and scrambled up onto the raised area around it. “What gives?!”

“Are you finally gonna look at me now?” Keith snapped, turning away from Lance as the boy reached for it, draping himself over Keith’s back and trying to stretch his long, gangly giant arms to grab it. Keith twisted his body down and away to keep it out of reach, digging his elbow into Lance’s chest to push him back when fingers grabbed his wrist. “Or are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Lance hissed in his ear, shifting up onto his tiptoes to try and make it that extra inch to the comm. device. “Come on, man, I’ve got a really long streak going!”

They froze, their struggle halting at once as the comm. chirped with the familiar sound of losing: _You lose! You lose! You lose!_ Lance groaned at the sound of the loss, loud and obnoxious right in his ear, and went limp right on top of him. 

Keith nearly buckled under the sudden deadweight. “You mean you _had_ a streak,” Keith managed to grunt out. He finally managed to shove Lance off of him, practically throwing him off.

“Yeah, I wonder what happened,” Lance sneered.

Keith let his lip curl, and held it out for _him _to take back, refusing to kindly offer it back. “Way to _almost_ win on super easy mode, by the way. Isn’t that meant for, like, Altean babies?”

Lance snatched it from him. “What your damage, Keith?” he yelled, throwing his hands up. 

“Tell me yours first!” Keith demanded. “I’ve been back for _four days_ now and you’ve been avoiding me the entire time!”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Lance leered, shoving the comm. into his back pocket. “If you think I’m giving you some kind of special treatment, then get off your high horse.”

“I _know_ you’re treating me differently! Don’t try and play this off like it’s nothing!” Keith snarled. “Every time I enter the same room as you, or get near you, or make eye contact with you, or whatever, you make up some dumb excuse and run away. Sometimes, I don’t even get the courtesy of an excuse, you just _leave_. I deserve an explanation as to why I’m being ghosted out of nowhere!” Keith folded his arms and mustered up his best scowl. It was hard to really be mad at Lance these days, but it was easier when he thought about how Lance had very clearly been making an effort to stay away from him. “What did I _do_ to piss you off _so bad_?”

“I’m not pissed off at you.” Lance narrowed his eyes. “Or, at least, I wasn’t until _now_.”

“Then why do you keep _running_ from me?” Keith lashed out.

“Nothing. I’m not running from you.” 

“Sure could’a fooled me, Lance.”

“Keith, I’m _not_ running from you.” 

“Oh, get off your high horse.” Keith seethed. “That’s crap and you know it. If you’re not running from me, then what are you doing? Playing some kind of game where I’m _supposed_ to catch you? Like, are you playing tag or something? ‘Cause I think everyone involved is supposed to _know_ what they’re playing.”

“I’m not _playing_ anything,” Lance said through gritted teeth.

“Then what’s your excuse?! If you’re not mad, and if you’re not playing some weird mind game with me, then why don’t you want to hang out with me anymore?!”

Lance’s lip curled at his despair. “It’s called ‘not being desperate’, Keith, you should give it a try sometime.”

Realization slammed into Keith with the subtlety and force of a high-speed freight train. “Oh my _God_,” he breathed, all of the anger stripped from his voice, replaced by disbelief. “Were you… were you playing _hard to get _with me…?”

Lance stiffened. “No! Why would I ever…?!”

“You totally were, weren’t you?” Keith continued, as if Lance hadn’t spoken. “You stole my strategy, just like you said you would, and now you’re using it against me to get back at me – to torture me, to drive me crazy, like how you think I did to you. After all, that’s the whole game, isn’t it?” He let out a manic laugh. “Well, good job, Lance. Awesome. You did it. You’ve got all the cards now.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” Lance hissed. “I’m just– ugh, Keith, you don’t _understand_–“

“No, I get it loud and clear. You’re _practicing_ on me,” Keith finished for him, and oh, saying it out loud tasted so _bitter_. “So you can do the real thing on _Princess_ _Allura_, the beautiful alien princess of your dreams. She’s the one you want, right? Of course she is. She’s everything you could ever want and more, your perfect endgame, and I’m just _Keith_, your totally platonic _rival_.” He chuckled darkly, and tried to blink away the feeling of angry tears welling up. “Whatever. I'm out of here."

He turned on his heel and stalked to the entrance, leaving Lance standing behind him in a daze.

The doors slid open for him, and Keith stopped in the entranceway. He turned around and gave Lance a bitter smile, shaking his head reproachfully. “Congratulations. You’re a real bad boy, now, just like you wanted from the start. How's it feel?"

Lance recoiled like he’d been physically struck, the words slapped right out of his mouth. Nothing but shocked stutters came out of his mouth, failed attempts to try and defend himself.

Without another word, Keith turned and left, stomp, stomp, stomping down the hall.

* * *

“Okay. You can do this.”

Lance bit down on his lip, teeth worrying at his lip, a habit he could never shake. He stared at the pair of doors he stood before, his stomach tying itself into an even tighter knot as he thought about what was behind them.

He balled his hand into a fist, digging his nails into his palms to stop his hand from trembling. “You _need_ to do this. It’s the right thing to do.” Sucking in a deep breath, Lance willed his hand to loosen up, then raised it up to the doors. “Just… jump right in. It’s not hard. You’ve dived into worse and come out alive and better than ever. This is nothing.”

_Knock knock knock. _

Lance quickly stepped back from the doors once the deed was done, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as if they would incriminate him for something. He gnawed on his lip and mentally counted the ticks between his knock and the answer – or really, the lack of one. As the gap grew wider and only stayed just as silent, he found himself teetering on the edge of spiraling. He pondered knocking again.

“It’s called ‘not being desperate’, Lance,” he muttered to himself, sucking in a stabilizing breath as he rapped his knuckles on the door again. “You should try it sometime.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels as he kept on waiting. As the ticks officially added up to a dobash, then to two dobashes, Lance sighed and slumped dejectedly. He reluctantly stepped back up to the door and leaned in.

“Hey, Keith? I’m sure you already guessed, but… it’s Lance. I know you’re probably still cheesed off at me, but… do you think we can talk?”

Silence.

“Please? I know–“ Lance cut himself off with a sigh, and lightly rested his forehead on the door. “I know I’ve been a real jerk to you lately. Like, a super mega jerk. Winning the Jerk of the Year Award will probably be no contest for anybody else.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hot with shame. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Point is, I want to explain myself. I don’t have an excuse– even if I _did_ have one, nothing would ever be good enough to make up for this. But there’s a reason behind why I’ve been acting like this. A stupid, terrible reason, but a reason irregardless, and that’s what I wanna talk about.”

Silence; silence; more silence, for almost a whole nother dobash.

Lance closed his eyes, feeling the sting of rejection. “Okay,” he breathed out. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

He stood there for another few ticks. Just before he hit five, his balance was suddenly thrown off by the doors opening up.

“_Ay_–!“ Lance stumbled forward into the dark room. Catching his balance again, he turned around, bewildered, and went ramrod still as Keith frowned back at him, slightly obscured by the shadowy darkness of the room.

“Hey,” Keith said, after a few ticks of silence.

Lance straightened up, snapped back to his senses. “Hey, man.” He pocketed his hands again, and glanced down at his shoes, coughing awkwardly. “Uh… thanks for letting me in.”

“Mm.” Keith swiped his hand across the door pad, and they slid shut, encasing them in shadows once again.

Lance squinted in the dark, dimly lit by the soft blue glow of the light above the bed. “Were you... taking a nap or something..?” he quietly asked, taking in the blanket pushed down to the bed, the crinkled sheets, the rumpled state of Keith’s clothes, the puffy state of his eyes even in the low light…

“Yeah,” Keith said simply. “I _was_.” 

Lance’s heart sank. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Keith walked over to the bed and kneeled on it, adjusting the levels on the lighting panel above the bed.

Lance hovered in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, rankled by the awkward tension as Keith sat on the edge of his bed and turned eyes on the floor.

“Keith…” he began, taking a hesitant step over to the bed, then another. “I’m – sorry.”

“What for, Lance?” Keith looked up at him, stopping Lance right in his tracks. “It’s my fault. I took the whole thing too seriously, read into things that weren’t there – things I wanted to believe were there for _me_ instead of for Allura, and then blew up at you for my own stupidity. I know you’d never play mind games with me, you’re too _nice_, no matter how bad you try to be.” He smiled bitterly, an empty echo from his outburst from earlier. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re a goody-two-shoes at heart, no matter how hard you try. You’re nice, and really funny, and _kind_ – the polar opposite of me, if _I’m_ the litmus test for what a bad boy is supposed to be.” He shook his head. “What do they say? Opposites attract? I guess that’s why I like you so much.”

All Lance could do was stare. “You… you _like_ me…?”

Keith nodded, face turning pink. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

Keith glanced up at him, bewildered. Lance ran a hand back through his hair and laughed harder, his own cheeks growing warm as it sunk in. “This... this is like something out of one of my grandma’s telenovelas!”

Keith tilted his head. “What..?”

Laughter fading with a soft sigh, Lance stepped over to the bed and held his hands out. “Stand up, Keith,” he requested, offering his palms for the other to take. “Just ‘cause you beat me to it doesn’t mean I’m not gonna deliver this speech I planned out for you. I practiced in the mirror and everything, so I have to at least give you bullet points or else I’ll be mad about it for the rest of my life.”

Keith blinked, but hesitantly let Lance pull him to his feet and back under the glow-in-the-dark stars.

“This isn’t quite like I pictured,” Lance mused, thinking back to that first dream. He closed his eyes, and the outdoor balcony replaced the white and gray tones of Keith’s quarters. When he opened his eyes again, the soft lights, the fresh breeze, the distant swell of music, it all faded when his eyes met Keith’s. “But it’s just as good, if not better.”

“Lance, what are you talking about?” Keith asked exasperatedly.

“I’m talking about feelings, Keith,” Lance began, releasing Keith’s hands to put his hands on his shoulders. “Feelings, and thoughts.”

The pink returned to Keith’s face. “…what kind of thoughts?”

“The kind I’ve been running away from, ‘cause I didn’t know how to deal with them.” Lance closed his eyes and let out a short sigh, taking his hands off of Keith’s shoulders. He couldn’t do that, touch him and hold eye contact, not with what he was about to say. “The gay for your teammate kind.” 

Keith’s eyes widened. “The… huh…?”

“Ehh, something more like the bi kind, actually? I dunno, I’m still kinda confused on it myself. It’s not something I talked about growing up.” Lance returned his eyes to Keith’s, staring back at him. In this lighting, the cool gray tones of his iris looked almost purple, a dusky indigo in the dimness. “But what category I fall into isn’t important right now.”

“Uhh, it kinda sounds like it is?” Keith guessed, folding his arms. “Since you’re apparently… y’know… having gay for your teammate kinda thoughts and all.”

“Important, sure, but not important right now, mullet! Let me talk!” Lance shook his head and tried to get back on track. It was hard to completely focus while he was standing still like they were – his mom always joked that his brain was leg-powered, and she was right. “But like I said, that kinda stuff wasn’t something I talked about growing up. Not out of hate or anything, but we just… didn’t know anything about it.

“I’m a pretty good listener, and I don’t offer half-bad advice either, but when it comes to my own feelings, it’s easier to pretend like they don’t exist at all. I push stuff down. I run away. I keep the unpleasant stuff at arm’s length for as long as I can, trying to buy myself more time until there just isn’t any more. And then, I break down. It’s not good or healthy, I know, but old habits are hard to break.”

He smiled wryly. “And guess what happened when I had a dream where I had the most romantic kiss of my entire life with you out on some balcony?”

Keith’s eyes widened to the size of plates. “You had a what where you had a what?” he asked, shrill with disbelief. He pointed to himself. “With _me_??”

“The day right before you left for two weeks,” Lance confirmed. “Which is why–“

“Which is why you didn’t hug me that day?” Keith gaped at him. “You’re telling me you ghosted me for like – what’s the sum of things, five days? All because you were having a sexuality crisis for almost three weeks??"

“Not for the whole three weeks!” Lance protested. “And it turned into a romantic crisis pretty darn quick – it’s distinct from a sexuality crisis, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry,” Keith drawled, making a real show out of rolling his eyes. “My bad.”

Lance bawked at his hostile tone. “Hey, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, in my entire life! Can you blame me for panicking a little when you got near me?”

“Yes,” Keith said blandly. “Yes I can.”

“Well!” Lance said. “That’s… fair.”

Keith sighed, breaking up the brief silence that overtook them both. “What was the dream like…?” he murmured. “The one where you… kissed me, or whatever.”

“Which one?” Lance joked, throwing an eyeroll in there for good measure.

Keith’s eyebrows shot up. “I meant the one that triggered your three week crisis, but… there was more than one?”

“It was like something out of a dream!” Lance replied, raising his volume slightly to drive home the point that he was moving on from that embarrassing slip of the tongue, _thank you_. Keith smirked, but let him continue. “The sun had just set, and I was out on some balcony. I think it might’ve been the Castle, but we were on some weird planet, so everything was set up differently. I dunno.” He closed his eyes and recalled the dream once more. “I remember, we were at some kind of party. I stepped out for some air, and you came and found me. You were mean to me, accusing me of being a lightweight, but it was all teasing so I didn’t mind that much.” He dropped his smile for a moment. “And hey, don’t tell my mom or anything, but I’m no lightweight. Just ask Hunk and he’ll tell you.”

“I just might have to.” Keith tilted his head. “What was I like..?”

“You were… Keith,” Lance said. “You were the same, but different. You were bigger, older, more... grizzled. Your hair was longer. You were taller than me, for some reason, and you were mean about it, too.” Lance glanced down at Keith’s cheek. “And you had something here,” he continued, slowly bringing his hand up to cup Keith’s face, swallowing as Keith’s breath hitched. He rubbed his thumb down Keith’s cheek, starting just beneath the eye and curving down, hooking around his jawline. “Some kind of markings, one on each cheek. I dunno where you got it, but it was purple, so it probably had something to do with being Galra, so that's something for me to unpack later.” His fingertips brushed down the side of Keith’s neck, stopping where collar had swallowed up that strange purple stripe. “It looked good on you, though. You made it work.” 

“And…” Keith glanced down from his eyes, and Lance felt his cheeks grow warm as Keith stared at his mouth for a solid three ticks before looking back up. “…what was the kiss like?”

Lance bit his lip. Was it just him or was it suddenly really hot in here? “Well…” he began, reaching out for Keith to take his hands. Keith swallowed thickly and slipped his hands into Lance’s. Lance guided Keith’s hands around his waist, pressing them over the juts of his hipbones. “You put your hands like this…”

“Uh-huh..?”

“And then…” Haltingly, Lance shuffled a half-step closer, knees brushing against each other, carefully bringing his shoes between Keith’s bare feet. He flattened his other palm against Keith’s chest and slid his palm up, fingers resting on Keith’s shoulder. “You leaned in.…”

Keith’s eyelids drooped. “Yeah..?” he murmured.

“And then…” Lance leaned in, tilting his head to the left, their noses brushing together. Keith closed his eyes and moved in, short black eyelashes fluttering with expectation. Lance paused, opening his eyes just a sliver, just as hot breath ghosted across his mouth from Keith’s lightly parted lips. “…I woke up.”

Keith cracked his eyes open. His fingers twitched on Lance’s waist, lightly crinkling the fabric of his jacket. “That’s a shame,” he whispered.

“It really is,” Lance breathed back, stroking his thumb over the curve of Keith’s cheekbone. “Now I’ll _never_ know what it was like. I'll only dream about it for the rest of my days."

Keith let out a tiny laugh, no more than a puff of air through his nostrils. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh?” Lance drew back to quirk a brow down at him, his hand drifting down the line of Keith's arm to settle on his forearm. “What makes you say that?”

In lieu of an answer, Keith's hands pressed in on his waist, then pulled, yanking him back in and kissing him.

Lance's eyes went wide for a tick, then two. When his brain finally caught up to reality - the reality that _he was kissing Keith_ \- he let his eyes drift shut and melted into it, angling his head down. He draped his arms over Keith's shoulders. 

A tiny sigh escaped from Keith's nostrils, hot air venting out across his cheek. Arms wound around Lance's waist, hands locking together at the small of his back, entrapping him in the embrace as Keith pressed in closer, their chests brushing together.

After a few moments, Lance pulled away slightly, moving back until just the bows of their mouths were touching, and took a breath, _inhale-exhale_. He lingered just out of range like a ghost, their mouths a millimeter apart, cupids bows barely bumping. Keith chased after him like he was dying for it, and exhiliration sparked under Lance's skin. After years of chasing, he was finally being chased; after weeks, months even, of wanting, he was finally being wanted, and it was _thrilling_. 

Heat was coalescing under his skin, threatening to catch fire. Lance pulled away before he’d burst into flames.

"That," he breathed out, "was way nicer than a dream."

Keith nodded, ducking his chin down to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. “I agree.” 

Lance's fingers twitched in the fabric of Keith's shirt. "Oh? That implies that you dreamed about me, too, you realize."

There was a beat of silence. Then, Keith looked away, cheeks pinking. "Yeah, and?"

Lance reared back, a grin curling over his mouth. "_Oh_? Do tell."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he affectionately ordered.

"Make me," Lance challenged, leaning back in until the tips of their noses were pressed together.

Keith's eyes flickered down, then back up into his.

His smile faded as something occurred to him, and his grip on Lance’s waist tightened. “Can I?" he asked quietly.

"Keith, I'm practically begging you to, here," Lance said.

Keith frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Here, sure, but..." He paused, then shook his head, like he was abandoning a train of thought. “Are we… romantically engaged now?”

Lance’s brows shot up at that. “That’s, uh… that’s _one_ way to put it, but…”

"So we are?" Keith pressed, fingers flexing on Lance's hips.

Lance bit his lip and lowered his head, looking up at Keith through long, curved eyelashes. “If that’s what you want, then... then that’s what I want, too – if you’ll have me.”

Keith stared at him. Then, he nodded, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Then I guess I have some calls to make.” 

* * *

“Is this truly what you want? The choice is not one to be made lightly.”

Keith glanced over at Lance. Their eyes met, and Keith smiled softly. “That's what I want,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Lance.

Kolivan’s eyes shifted as he followed Keith’s eyes over to Lance. His typical scowl softened slightly, and the corner of his mouth gave a slight twitch. He bowed his head down to try and hide it. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”

Keith dipped his head in turn. “Thanks, Kolivan.”

Kolivan returned his gaze to Allura, who stood before the bridge control panel. “Princess, I thank you for allowing Keith to contact us.”

Allura schooled her face into something more neutral and bowed her head. “Of course. Thank you for allowing him to return.” She reached for the panel once more, fingertips at the ready. “We will be in touch, Kolivan.”

Kolivan nodded. His grave face disappeared off the screen.

Lance instantly relaxed, a breath of relief whooshing out of him. “Thank _God_!”

Keith shot a smirk over at him. “What’s the matter, Lance? You _scared_?”

“Yes!! Who _wouldn’t_ be, after that?!” Lance demanded shrilly. “Like, did you listen to what he _said_ to me? How he _looked_ at me?? That was the most _terrifying_ not-a-shovel-talk shovel talk I’ve ever received in my _life_! It was like talking to a mafia don!” He gave a comical shudder and shuffled over, leaning his head on Keith’s shoulder for comfort.

Keith laughed softly, giving him a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just what his face _looks_ like. You get used to it.”

“Speaking of getting used to things…”

Keith and Lance stiffened in unison. Lance reluctantly picked his head up off of Keith’s shoulder, and they both twisted to look over their shoulders, where the rest of their teammates stood.

"_This _will get some getting used to," Shiro finished with a smirk that told them they were in for a _lot_ of teasing.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to include a section for coran, for either of them ( ;;v;;) i'm sorry, space uncle
> 
> if you enjoyed, please leave kudos/comments! feedback and concrit are loved <3

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a joke, based on hunk and pidge making fun of lance in season 6. 
> 
> somehow, it got to 23k words. 
> 
> ...............i'm not very good at jokes. lol


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